Hooked
by TV Manic 2
Summary: An Arkham breakout goes from bad to worse when Robin finds himself trapped with the Joker, who wants to play a little game with the Boy Wonder… Set Early Season One - Robin-centric with lots of Daddy!Bats *NOW COMPLETE*
1. Mistakes

**Young Justice -:- Hooked**

**Summary: **An Arkham breakout goes from bad to worse when Robin finds himself trapped with the Joker, who wants to play a little game with the Boy Wonder…

**Setting/Spoilers: **Set early season one, around the time that Artemis joins the team (but that's mainly for context, this is a Dynamic Duo adventure, no team participation)/Not really any spoilers

**Pairings: **None – but there is lots of Daddy!Bats

**Genre/Rating: **Hurt/Comfort/Horror with a healthy dose of Angst and Suspense/Rated T for multiple scenes of torture and graphic violence

**Disclaimer: **If I owned Young Justice, the Joker would have been way more psychotically badass.

**Author's Note(s): **Hello Again! As people seemed to like my other YJ Fic _Identity_ and because the people in this fandom are so entirely awesome, I thought I'd write another story. I do have ideas for a sequel (and a sequel to the sequel…!) but this story is unrelated. This time around we're focusing purely on Robin and Batman (in that order).

I felt that the YJ Universe's rendition of the Joker was a tad… _under_whelming, so this is my attempt to rectify that. I've spent my past two paydays on lots of Batman titles and I'm loving the New 52 – especially the _Death of the Family_ arc with the Joker being his psychotic self. Hopefully I've captured at least a little bit of that character in this story…

But I have rambled more than enough. Just read and ENJOY!

* * *

**Chapter One -:- Mistakes**

"_Row, row, row your boat, gently down the stream…"_

Robin clenched his teeth and tried to block out the Joker's atonal singing. He was in enough pain as it was without making his ears bleed as well. But then again, he figured that if he lost any more blood, he wouldn't be hearing much of anything anymore. He would be dead. _Well… if it gets me away from the Joker…_

"_Merrily, merrily, merrily, life is better when you SCREAM!"_

The crowbar hit the back of his knee on that last note, and Robin couldn't help the grunt that passed his bloodied lips. The Joker pouted at him, disappointed. The expression made his white skin crack as it was pulled in the opposite direction of the perpetual grin. "Now, now Bird Boy, I told you. When I say 'scream' you have to do just that. Every time you mess it up, you know that we just have to start again…"

The Joker looked at Robin as if expecting some kind of response, but the young hero had long since run out of witty comebacks. His sense of humour had gone out with his dignity a while back. Joker sighed, grabbed Robin's elbow and pulled. "Are you even listening to me?"

The yank sent Robin swinging again, shooting shockwaves of pain from his shoulder through to every nerve end in his body.

They were in a warehouse, presumably somewhere in Gotham, though Robin couldn't even be sure of that anymore. Pigeons fluttered in the rafters and faint moonlight shone through the high windows, casting the boy and his torturer in shadows. The floor was concrete, and stained with blood. Robin was in the middle of the vast space, suspended from the ceiling by a hook that had been run through his shoulder, like bait on a fishing line. His feet hovered about a metre above the ground, his entire weight pulling at the wound and making it feel as if it were tearing wider with every swing.

If he opened his eyes, which he didn't particularly want to do, he would see the outline of the elaborate bomb that the Joker had set up to greet the Batman with.

Joker did love his bombs.

Until Batman came for the grand finale, all that was left for them to do was play the psycho's games. Robin hated Joker's games. They made him realise that his tolerance for pain had never truly been tested. Just when he thought it couldn't possibly get any worse, another bone would break, or the crowbar would get him in a pressure point, or his shoulder would be stretched to the point where he thought for sure that his arm couldn't be attached anymore.

"Now, let's try this again," The Joker said, as if he were talking to a child. Which, really, he was. Robin was only thirteen. He would deny this later (if there was a later) but honestly, he was just a kid. And he was scared and alone and trapped with an unpredictable psychopath with a penchant for torture and really bad singing. "And don't forget your part, Wonder Boy. From the top now!"

The Joker pushed him, making Robin sway like a pendulum again, the movement twisting the hook and spilling fresh blood onto his cape-less uniform. Robin could barely hear the Joker's singing over the blood pumping in his ears, his whole body feeling as if it were being torn apart.

"Sing with me! _Merrily, merrily, merrily…"_ the Joker lifted the crowbar, his grin growing inhumanly wide. Robin tensed for the hit, gritting his teeth against the fear that simply wanted out. "_Life is better when you SCREAM!"_

The metal smashed into his lower back and made the chain jolt. Robin couldn't help it.

He screamed.

* * *

**Nineteen Hours Earlier…**

_How in the heck did Harley get on the rooftop?_ Robin thought to himself as he darted out of range of Harlequin's mallet. He launched himself into a flip, using her shoulder as a springboard as he pulled a baterang from his belt and threw it at the Mad Hatter, making the Alice in Wonderland themed madman drop his weapon with a clatter. Once he was back on the ground he dropped to avoid another swing of the mallet, took Harley out with a leg sweep and then cartwheeled out of the way so that he could take stock.

This was an Arkham breakout on a scale that Robin had never seen before. Usually one or two of the unstable inmates would get free, cause some havoc and get marched right back into their cells, but not this time. This time the whole lot had decided to come out to play.

Most of them had vanished into the city, keeping low profiles so that they would have some time to enjoy their freedom – which was the smart move. But some of them, like Harley and Hatter, were hanging around, purposely seeking a fight with the Dynamic Duo - which was the stupid thing to do. But then again, they had just broken out of a mental hospital, not a Mensa clubhouse; they couldn't exactly be called clear thinkers.

"Stop moving Bird Boy!" Harley whined as he dodged all of her predictable strikes, her two-tone jester's hat flailing and making the bells jingle incessantly. "I want to soften you up!"

Robin blinked at that statement, but didn't have time to ponder it any further when suddenly Two-Face was behind him, his scarred hand grabbing him by the cape. Robin choked as his collar strove to cut off his air supply as Two-Face lifted him into the air. But he quickly hooked his finger under the catch, releasing the cape and dropping him back to the rooftop. He rolled onto his back and kicked out, separating Two-Face from his precious coin as it flew from his normal hand and rolled across the asphalt.

Two-Face staggered around, searching desperately for his coin, accidently knocking into Harley who pouted angrily at him. Robin smirked at the three psychotic villains as they devolved into playground fisticuffs, more concerned with beating each other than paying the Boy Wonder any mind.

"Okay, now stay still!" Robin jibed as he pulled out another baterang and threw it. The pointy end hit smack in the centre of Harley's mallet, before exploding out and capturing the three of them in dark red foam. As the liquid hardened, the three villains attempted to escape but their struggles were useless, making Robin cackle at them before he remembered that they weren't the only escapees.

He could hear the sounds of a fight coming from the alleyway a couple of blocks over, an inhuman roar carrying in the night air. Robin quickly took a running start and leapt across the gap to the next rooftop, using momentum and his skills as an acrobat to close the distance. He skidded to a stop on the apartment building above the alley and looked down at the fight taking place below.

It was Batman vs. Solomon Grundy, and by the looks of it, Batman wasn't winning. The hulking zombie was twice as tall as the Dark Knight and a thousand times more ugly. Decaying skin and ratty clothes draped across his huge frame, the stench of long-dead flesh reaching the Boy Wonder even from his high perch. Several baterangs stuck out of the giant's pressure points, but they were clearly doing nothing to slow Grundy down.

As Robin watched from above, Grundy grabbed Batman by both his arm and leg and spun, launching the Dark Knight into the building hard enough to send vibrations through the bricks and set Robin off balance. When his mentor didn't immediately get up, Robin fired off his grapple gun and jumped off the roof, barely slowing his descent as he landed hard on Grundy's shoulders.

The impact jarred his legs but Robin just easily jumped into a flip, spinning and hitting Grundy in the chest with two exploding baterangs of his own. But as he landed in a crouch on the concrete, he realised just how ineffective his attack was. Grundy simply waved away the gunpowder smoke and brushed off the sharpened weapons before growling threateningly at the young vigilante. Perhaps it was time to reassess his fighting technique.

Robin was cartwheeling out of the way of Grundy's wide right hook, when suddenly he felt a chill shiver down his spine. He could feel someone watching him intently, and as he darted back and away from Grundy he glanced up at the rooftop to see a shadowed figure glaring back at him. Even in the darkness of the night, Robin could see the malevolent intent in the shadow's cold gaze.

The young vigilante realised his mistake a millisecond too late. While he was distracted by the shadow, Grundy stepped up and threw a wild punch that wiped Robin out like a surfer failing epically on a giant wave. All the air was expelled from his lungs as Grundy's fist smacked into his stomach and literally sent him flying into the unforgiving brick wall. His head hit mortar and bright lights danced across his vision, leaving him dazed and struggling to remember how to breathe.

He could sense Grundy closing in for the kill, but Robin couldn't get his jellified limbs to co-operate with his survival instinct. _Fantastic, _the teen thought to himself with an internal eye-roll, _I'm gonna die in alley, killed by an overstuffed zombie. Asterous._

But then he felt heavy fabric brush against his legs and he blinked through the haze to see Batman intercepting Grundy's fist. The Dark Knight kicked the zombie with enough force to send Grundy staggering backwards, and then he glanced down at Robin over his shoulder. Seemingly satisfied that his partner wasn't dead, Batman closed the distance between him and Grundy and smashed a left hook into the giant's cheek, following it up with a right uppercut.

Robin climbed back to his feet, ignoring the pounding headache and the massive bruise that he would surely have on his stomach in the morning. He glanced up to see the shadow still watching them, looking very pleased with itself. And then it pulled away from the ledge and vanished into the night.

"Go after him!" Batman ordered as he shoved Grundy against the fire escape, the metal whining as it bent under the giant's weight. Grundy growled in frustration and grabbed up a piece of rebar and smacked it against Batman's back. The thick Kevlar absorbed most of the hit, but Robin still winced at the sound of the metal hitting his mentor. "Go, now!"

Robin didn't want to leave Batman fighting Grundy – the huge mass of dead flesh was clearly proving a challenge. He took half a step towards the two battling titans to help, but Batman threw him a look that left no room for argument. Robin gritted his teeth, drew his grapple gun and then propelled straight upwards and back onto the roof.

The shadow was waiting. On the flat roof of an apartment building a block over, Robin could just make out a thin figure wearing a long coat and holding a cane like a Victorian gentleman. The figure tipped his hat at Robin in invitation and then made an impossible leap, disappearing onto a lower rooftop.

Robin grumbled under his breath in annoyance as he began his pursuit. He wanted to be back in the alleyway helping the Batman take down Grundy, not chasing some nobody he didn't even recognise across the rooftops of Gotham. And it didn't help that he had a sneaking suspicion why his mentor had sent him away.

He had screwed up. The covert young justice team had only been set up for just over a month. In that time they had already gone up against Block Buster, Mister Twister, Cobra, Amazo… and Robin had realised just how out of his depth he really was. He had thought that his four years of experience in a city as harsh as Gotham had prepared him for anything. He couldn't believe just how wrong he was. Compared to his super-powered teammates, he was weak, useless… a spare part. If it weren't for the fact that they needed him to hack a computer every now and again…? Well… there was no point Robin even being there.

He had hidden his growing insecurity for weeks. He didn't want to look any more pathetic than he already felt. But that morning he had admitted to Batman that he was having doubts about his role on the team. Bruce had studied him through the slits of his cowl, but he hadn't really said anything either to confirm that Robin was right or reassure him that he was wrong. But then again, Batman wasn't exactly one for words. Robin didn't know what he had been expecting.

Well, that's not true. He hadn't been expecting _this._

One hit from Grundy and suddenly he was being side-lined? Sent after some shadow because Batman feared that Robin was right about his uselessness? It wasn't fair! It wasn't…

_Woah!_

Robin skidded to a stop moments before he would have plummeted to his death. The figure he had been chasing had vanished again after leading the Boy Wonder onto a church roof. The old building was taller than those that surrounded it, and if Robin had let his momentum carry him any further he would have had a date with the concrete. He rebalanced himself on the thin apex of the steep roof and scanned his surroundings, scolding himself for being so off his game.

Robin had been so lost in his own thoughts that he hadn't realised that they had crossed half the city and wound up in Old Gotham. The bright lights of Wayne Tower lit the skyline and cast the old clock tower in shadows, giving Robin the landmarks he needed to orientate himself. Below him to the right the small graveyard attached to the church glowed, lit by small solar-powered garden lights. A small lane snaked round in a L-shape to his left, dividing them from a row of mismatched houses and apartments. Across from the wide alley in front of him there was single-storey warehouse with a long dead neon sign announcing it as some kind of nightclub that was clearly not open for business.

But there was no sign of the figure in the long coat. Robin swore under his breath and reached for his communicator, preparing himself for the lecture he was about to get. Instead he got nothing but static.

Dread built up in Robin's stomach as if some instinct of his already knew the nightmare that was about to follow.

He felt a shift in the air and turned just in time to block an attack with his Kevlar plated glove. The micro-computer built into the fabric hissed and sparked in complaint, but Robin ignored it as he twisted and struck out with a kick that sent his assailant sliding back. Anyone else would have tumbled off of the six-inch wide stone cap on the roof's apex, but this guy was incredibly nimble. He grinned at Robin as if glad that the young hero was finally putting up a decent fight.

Robin finally recognised him. Springheeled Jack. In the Boy Wonder's defence, this guy wasn't exactly a Gotham regular – in fact, he wasn't even American – he was a villain from England… a long_, long_ way from home. The British serial killer had been transferred to Arkham following his recent capture by Knight and Squire (the English version of a vigilante duo) for some sort of research or treatment or something. Robin hadn't really paid the story any attention; he had kind of been focused on Mister Twister's attack on Happy Harbour at the time. Now he was regretting it.

Springheeled Jack was tall, at least six foot, and reed thin like a drainpipe. He dressed like the old fashioned gentry in an expensive looking suit and smart dress shoes that did not look appropriate for roof-hopping. He wore white gloves with gold claws that curled around the opal that adorned the top of his ivory cane. A relatively short top hat balanced on his dark hair as he peered under the brim and gave Robin that serial killer grin.

When he jumped he coiled like a spring and launched himself so high that he had to have some sort of rocket propulsion built into his costume. Robin barely had a chance to get out of the way of Springheeled Jack's landing, he was so fast. The teenager folded in half backwards – Matrix style – to avoid the claws that would have raked across his chest, and then performed an amazing leap of his own, flipping so that he landed behind the villain and struck him in the back with a roundhouse kick.

Their fight would have been spectacular to watch if there had been anyone around. They were both excellent acrobats, their battle looking more like a deadly dance than an actual fight. The balance beam that was the roof's apex didn't prove to be much of a hindrance to either of them. If anything, they were in their element. If it weren't for the fact that Robin was all too aware of how close those golden claws were to gutting him, he would have said that he was kind of having fun.

That changed very quickly.

Robin overestimated how long the roof was. As he somersaulted over Springheeled Jack and riddled him with baterangs like a pincushion, he realised in mid-air that he had nowhere to land. Unless of course you counted the concrete thirty or so feet below them. Which he didn't. He reached for his grapple gun as the milliseconds counted down to his immediate demise. He was aiming for the church tower beside the roof that had been their battlefield, hoping to use his momentum to swing round and take out Springheeled Jack from behind.

But the serial killer had other ideas.

Just as Robin pulled the trigger, Springheeled Jack launched at him, performing an airborne rugby tackle that caught Robin right beneath the ribs and knocked his trajectory off completely. The grapple gun was ripped from his hands as suddenly he was flying diagonally backwards towards the roof of the nightclub.

_This is really going to hurt._

In fact, Robin blacked out. He was aware of the wind whistling in his ears and Springheeled Jack's grip around his waist. He felt his back hit something hard, he heard the whine of bending metal and something that sounded like maniacal laughter some distance away.

And then nothing.

* * *

Finally, Solomon Grundy went down.

Batman grunted with grim satisfaction as he stepped back from the newly hogtied zombie and surveyed the damage. He could feel bruises forming all down his left side from where he had hit the wall, and he suspected that he had cracked a few ribs at the very least. Blood dribbled from the cuts that littered his body and though he would never admit it out loud, he was _exhausted_.

It had been a long night. But it wasn't over yet. He pulled a small tablet computer from his belt and tapped at the screen. It wasn't as high tech as Robin's wrist computer, but it did the job. The device had been compiling data from police reports and the prisoner tracking bracelets that hadn't been disabled, creating a map of Gotham covered in red dots signifying the Arkham patients that still needed returning to their padded cells.

Batman pocketed the computer and pulled out his grapple gun. As he fired off a line he dropped a tracker on the unconscious Grundy so that the GCPD would be able to find him. And then he was swinging through the towers of Gotham City towards his next target.

As he soared above the streets, a prickle of paranoia ran down his spine. It had been a while since he had sent Robin after Springheeled Jack, but he had received nothing but silence from his protégé. This wasn't unusual; he had always taught Robin to keep his focus during a fight and he knew that though the boy was young he was perfectly capable of taking care of himself – despite Robin's recent doubts.

Batman released the grapple line and dropped onto the flat roof of an apartment building, several blocks away from where the computer told him his next target was. He couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. Very wrong.

He had long since learned to trust the instincts that his fellow Justice Leaguers and sometimes even his own protégé dismissed as his Bat Paranoia. He tried his communicator, wary of distracting Robin if he was in the middle of a takedown, but his gut telling him to take the risk. He was met with static, and suddenly every instinct was screaming at him to get to his son's side _right now_.

He took out the computer again and ran the tracking programme. The processor worked too slowly for the anxiety and fear that was building in Batman's stomach. Finally, the tracer flashed briefly in Old Gotham before the signal vanished.

Batman tried not to think about all the possible reasons why the signal would be cut as he immediately leapt across rooftops and dropped down where the Batmobile was parked. He wasn't as fast as Robin was at travelling via grapple line, and right now he needed speed. He climbed behind the wheel, the engine roaring to life, a thousand horsepower waiting to be unleashed. The tires squealed in protest as Batman put his foot to the floor and thundered onto the once-quiet streets.

He made it across the city in record time, with a record number of traffic violations; breaking every speed limit and running every stop sign. But some small part of him that he refused to listen to told him that it was still too slow.

He rumbled through the streets of Old Gotham until he finally spotted the spire of the church and skidded to a stop. His trained eyes scanned the dark houses and the graveyard until they settled on the abandoned grapple line hanging down from the church tower, the gun still attached and tapping against the stone wall in the light breeze.

Batman's gaze turned on the old warehouse that had briefly been turned into the nightclub that now sat empty and abandoned. He glanced up at the neon sign that flickered and buzzed mockingly.

THE LAST LAUGH

Batman's heart beat wildly against his chest as his stomach twisted into knots so tight he thought that he might actually be sick. But he fought to keep his outward mask of calm and control as he crossed the street and kicked open the chained shut doors, the rusted metal giving easily under the assault. The loud bang echoed around the empty space, sending the resident pigeons and rats scattering in fear. The streetlight outside created a thin rectangle of light and cast a long, dramatic shadow of the Dark Knight as he stood at the threshold.

He took in the scene in an instant. There was a huge hole in the roof, as if something had fallen through. The structure must have been quite weak as the corrugated metal had bent easily, providing just enough resistance to slow whatever had fallen through and make the landing painful, but not fatal. Batman stepped forward and knelt amongst the wreckage, his focus drawn to a black glove. He picked up the wrist computer, ignoring the sparks of the exposed wiring as he quickly realised just _what_ had fallen through the roof.

Suddenly, loud cackling laughter erupted from the nightclub's old sound system. Batman clenched his hands into fists as his anxiety turned into pure anger.

"_There you are, Batty Boy! So good of you to join us!"_ A familiar voice greeted him through the speakers mockingly. _"You know, you _just_ missed us – what a shame, eh?"_

"What do you want, Joker?" Batman demanded as he rose to his feet.

"_Why… to play a game of course!"_

Batman growled, glaring straight ahead as he felt the lens of a camera honing in on him and the Joker's mad eyes watching him in delight. "Where's Robin?"

"_That's part of the game, silly Bat!" _the Joker retorted. _"I like to call it 'Hide and Shriek'! I'll hide the little birdy, and you come and find him!"_

"How?" Batman ground his teeth to try and keep his rage in check. It wasn't working. He could practically hear the grin in the Joker's reply and it made his blood boil.

"_Oh, that's easy Batty! Just follow the sound of his _screams!"

* * *

**Wow, I am really cruel to our favourite Boy Wonder. And this is only the beginning… The things I've got planned… well… you'll just have to wait to find out! **


	2. Jokes

**Young Justice -:- Hooked**

**Author's Note(s): **Wow. Just... _wow._ I can't believe how many people are liking this fic! So many faves and _sixteen_ reviews - and that was just chapter one! Thank you so, _so_ much! You are all totally amazing and have successfully kicked my muse back into action after an incredible slump (I actually wrote the first chapter of this in November... good thing I didn't post it then...)

Special mention has to go to **Black Friar **for that essay of a review (and the one you left for _Identity_... and the recommendations to others...) - I just really hope I can keep meeting expectations now! And to **Potter4me **who has totally caught me out - yes, I have seen Sherlock Holmes 2... which may have been a _slight_ influence on the story... :P

Just a quick note: Updates are likely to bi-daily rather than the daily ones I gave you with_ Identity_ and _Infection_ - I've only just finished chapter four (of six) and I don't want to catch up with myself and leave you hanging!

Thank you again! Enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter Two -:- Jokes **

When Robin woke up, his first coherent thought was: _Ow._

Everything hurt. Muscles ached from exertion, his stomach was tender from Grundy's powerful punch, his head thumped with a vengeance… but his back hurt the most. From his shoulders down to his tailbone felt like one huge bruise, which was not being helped in the slightest by the cold, hard surface that he was lying on.

Despite the overwhelming urge to groan in pain and stretch out his aching body, Robin forced himself to remain still and keep his breathing even. He didn't open his eyes or even twitch, not wanting to give away the fact that he was awake. Instead he used his other senses as he had been trained, trying to discern where he was and what had happened.

It took him a moment (which he forgave himself for, figuring he probably had quite a serious concussion…) but he eventually remembered the fight on the church roof and the fall, though he couldn't recall actually hitting the ground. At least that explained why he hurt so much. Only now did he realise that it had all been a trap; Springheeled Jack had led him halfway across the city on purpose. Though Robin thought that using a building to knock him out had been rather extreme.

Now he was lying on his back on a concrete floor, his gloves, boots, cape and belt missing, leaving him feeling cold and exposed. He heard the cooing of pigeons from somewhere above him, their chatter lost in the echoes of the rafters. Judging from the chill and the vastness of the space, he figured that it was still night time or early morning and that he was in a warehouse. It wasn't the same one that he had landed on though – he could smell polluted river water and hear the distant sounds of boats, so he definitely wasn't in Old Gotham anymore.

He wasn't alone.

Heeled shoes scuffed on the concrete to his left; two steps followed by the tap of a cane. Springheeled Jack. Robin racked his brain, trying to remember what little he knew about the Victorian themed psycho. He was almost certain that the Brit usually targeted prostitutes, which didn't make any sense. Why would he change his M.O and kidnap a hero? Robin was pretty damn sure that he wasn't secretly a call girl…

A second set of footsteps. A cackle of laughter that sent a chill down Robin's spine.

_Oh God no._

"Wakey, wakey, rise and whine, Wonder Boy!" the unmistakable voice of the Joker sang, and Robin realised that his breath had hitched when he had heard the madman's laugh, giving himself away.

_Rookie mistake!_ He chided himself as his captors closed the distance between them and him. Suddenly gloved hands were wrapped around his wrists, Springheeled Jack's golden claws digging into his flesh as his arms were yanked above his head and held against the concrete. Robin was about to throw himself into a backwards roll and double drop kick the serial killer, but suddenly a heavy weight sat rather ungracefully on his legs. The young vigilante blinked up to find the pasty white face of the Joker grinning down at him, his green hair and garish purple suit glinting in the glow of the rising sun.

The Joker planted his hands on either side of Robin's exposed chest and leant down so that he was close enough for the teenager to smell his foul breath. Robin fought down his rising panic, turning his head to one side and making a disgusted sound in the back of his throat. "Woah, dude, _ugh_… don't they have breath mints in Arkham?"

Okay, so it wasn't exactly original… but Robin figured that he could be forgiven for being off his game. The Joker's grin broadened as he sat up straight and flipped open a switchblade. "Oh, they do… I've just never been a fan of little white pills. They tend to suck the fun right out of life."

Robin stared at the knife held so casually in the Joker's hand, and crooked an eyebrow. "That's because you have a very warped idea of 'fun'."

Joker grinned, and then looked up at Springheeled Jack and lightly punched the serial killer in the arm like they were old pals. "Didn't I tell you this kid was a hoot?" Joker paused expectantly, and then threw his head back and let out a short bark of laughter. "Hah! Get it? _Hoot?_ Because he's a _bird!"_ The green haired maniac devolved into a fit of hysterical giggles at his own joke, while his audience of two just stared at him.

"Owl's hoot," Robin retorted, cutting off the madman's outburst and earning himself a death glare. "My name is _Robin_."

"And they tweet," Springheeled Jack finished, his posh English accent sounding like something out of an old movie – nothing like Alfred's distinct syntax that Robin had come to love. The Joker turned his irritated stare on his partner in crime, though it did little to cow the British psychopath. "Please tell me that your plan is not to kill the boy with bad humour. I fear that I may perish first if that is the case."

For a brief, hopeful moment, Robin thought that the Joker was going to forget all about him and launch himself at Springheeled Jack. The teen was already planning his escape route, ready to move the moment that the Joker got off of his legs. But it didn't happen.

Instead, the Joker laughed. "Good one Jackie Boy! Robin's _tweet!_ Hah! Get it, Bird Boy?"

Robin raised an eyebrow. "You know, for someone called the_ Joker_, you're not very good at telling jokes, are you?"

He must have hit a nerve. All laughter and merriment drained from the Joker's face as he fixed his cold eyes on the young captive pinned between his knees. The grin was still in place, as always, but it just made the glare more terrifying. As Robin forced himself not to look away, he could feel the promise of all the tortures and torments that the pasty-faced clown had in store for him. He always knew that it would be his mouth that would get him in trouble – but he just couldn't help himself. He smirked up at his jailer. "Something I said?"

The Joker blinked, as if he had been lost in thought. The enjoyment and mischief behind his psychosis was gone, and suddenly Robin was looking up at a very angry psychopath. Even Springheeled Jack seemed to notice the change, his grip on the teen's wrists shifting as if he was getting prepared to run himself.

When the Joker spoke, his anger was like a hidden blade that belied the playfulness of his words. He rested his switchblade against Robin's collarbone, the intent clear.

"Say, Tweetie Pie…" he smiled, running the blade lightly across the boy's throat. "How'd you like to play a game…?"

Robin would have retorted, really he would have, but his voice had stopped working. It was stuck in his throat beneath the blade that was slicing a shallow red river across his skin. He couldn't move, and not just because of the two psychopaths holding him down. He was frozen in fear, no amount of training or conditioning able to get his uncooperative limbs to move. He knew that things were about to get a whole lot worse for him, that this was his one last chance to escape – however slim it may be – but he just couldn't move.

The Joker leaned back, rocking onto his heels and alleviating his weight on the Boy Wonder's legs. Springheeled Jack's attention was focused on the powder keg that he had chosen to work with, his grip on Robin's wrists ever-so-slightly loosened. This was his chance… but…

_Get a grip, Grayson._

Robin curled up his legs, ignoring the many protests of his aching body, and kicked out, his bare feet catching the Joker in the chest hard enough to throw him backwards. The teen vigilante then used the momentum to push back, practically folding himself in half as he took out Springheeled Jack and completely freed himself from their grasp. He rolled onto his knees and climbed to his feet…

But immediately fell back down. His head was spinning like a merry-go-round as his vision went from full colour to grey scale. He tried to get up again, knowing that his captors were probably already recovered from his initial attack, but he couldn't see straight enough to remember where he had spotted the exit. Perhaps that concussion was even more serious than he had thought.

"If you didn't want to play, all you had to do was say so," The Joker grumbled, somewhere off to Robin's right. He glanced that way and made another attempt to get to his feet, but Springheeled Jack barrelled into him from his other side, sending them both sprawling on the concrete. "Not that you have any choice, of course."

The Englishman wrapped his arms around Robin's waist, pinning the kid's arms to his side as he hauled them both upright. Robin struggled and kicked as he was pulled to his feet, but all the movement was making him feel dizzy and sick. He briefly wondered if throwing up on the Joker would buy him enough time to escape, or just piss him off, before he was dragged to the middle of the warehouse and dropped on the floor.

This time, Robin didn't get up. His head felt so heavy that he was sure that it was anchoring him to the concrete. He landed on his side, his body feeling like a dead weight. His brief adrenaline rush was gone, leaving him slow and lethargic.

The Joker knelt down in front of him. "You're really going to love this game, Wonder Boy. I picked it especially for you."

Robin could barely get his eyes to focus on the hazy image of the Joker. His tongue felt too big for his mouth, but he forced it to work in one last act of defiance. "Go… to hell."

The Joker ignored him. "Have you ever heard of Go Fish? It's a brilliant game, really. But I find that it's so much more fun to play without the pesky playing cards. Me and Batman are playing it right now."

Something shifted behind Robin, the sound of footsteps and the chinking of chains reaching him through his concussion. Springheeled Jack walked into his eye line and handed something over to his partner.

"You see, Batman comes as a pair these days, and he's looking to complete his set," The Joker continued, crouching right beside Robin and holding something sharp against his shoulder. "So he says to me: 'Have you got any Robins?' and I say…"

Joker stabbed the hook right through the teenager's right shoulder, twisting it slowly under his clavicle until it pushed out of the other side. The pain was indescribable. It burned like a red hot poker and yet at the same time made Robin's entire body go cold, as if his brain simply couldn't process what the hell was happening.

But then it got so much worse.

Suddenly the hook was pulled taut, the sound of the metal grinding against bone making him feel physically sick. And then he was in the air, the metre between him and the ground feeling like miles as his entire weight was held on a single point.

It was too much. He couldn't handle it. As the blessed darkness came to take him far away from the pain, he heard the Joker laugh sadistically like the madman he was.

"Go Fish!"

* * *

"Where is he, Alfred?" Batman demanded as he steered the Batmobile through the streets of Gotham at dangerous speeds. The sun was almost completely risen by now, casting the creature of the night in hues of red and orange. The sane citizens of the crime ridden city were beginning to venture out of their houses now, and soon rush hour traffic would hinder the Batman's hunt.

"_I do not know, sir,"_ Alfred replied over the communicator. _"However I doubt that causing a road traffic collision will speed up the search. Might I suggest…"_

"I know Alfred," Batman interrupted, frustration and fear making him short with his lifelong friend. Reluctantly he turned the Batmobile towards home, hating the feeling that he was betraying his son by leaving the city. "I'm heading back to the cave now."

The further that he got from the tall buildings of Gotham, the stronger the guilt in the pit of his stomach grew. When he had seen Robin take that hit from Grundy and crumple against the alley wall, his over-protectiveness had taken over. He had wanted his protégé out of that fight – not because _he_ thought that Robin couldn't handle it, but because _Robin_ didn't know if he was strong enough. Dick had told Bruce that he was doubting his abilities since he had been thrown in direct comparison with his super-powered teammates; and doubts like that… they were dangerous.

And so he had sent Robin after what he had considered to be the softer target. He had recognised Springheeled Jack, recalled his file and knew that his fighting style was perfectly suited to Robin's agility and acrobatics. He had thought that it would have been a fairer fight. That maybe by taking down a villain like that, Robin's confidence could have been restored. Now though…

Now he realised just how wrong he had been.

He drove the Batmobile straight through the waterfall that camouflaged the cave's entrance a tad faster than he should have done. The tyres skidded on the smooth surface of the cave floor, and if it weren't for years of experience behind the wheel, he probably would have careened straight into the wall. As it was, his parking was less than stellar, and as he climbed out of the car he noted the shiny new tyre marks that marred the floor.

Alfred frowned at him disapprovingly from where he was standing beside the computer, but wisely chose not to comment. "I have re-tasked a Wayne Tech satellite that should be in position within a few hours and I have begun searching through the footage from traffic cameras in Old Gotham, though so far there has been no sign of the young master or his captors," Alfred briefed as he stepped aside for his eldest charge.

Batman pulled down his cowl, revealing the tired face of Bruce Wayne as he took his seat before the computer. His exhausted blue eyes took in all the information from every screen in a moment, and then he set to work. It may be too bright outside for Batman to be scouring the streets, but that didn't mean that Bruce would stop his search for a second. He wasn't resting until his son was home.

Alfred stepped back, practically blending into the shadows as he waited for the moment that he was needed. He had known Bruce long enough to know that no amount of talking or reasoning would convince the man to take the slightest of pauses to assess his own condition, no matter how serious it may be. And in this instance, with Dick missing, Alfred couldn't help agreeing that every second counted.

When Robin had been drafted into Batman's self-imposed war against crime, Alfred had protested. Dick had been nine at the time. _Nine._ He was just a child that should have been nowhere near a city as dangerous as Gotham in the twilight hours. But over time, as Alfred had watched Batman's darkness soften and Robin's confidence grow, he had gradually come to accept a truth.

Batman needed Robin.

Though at times like these, a revelation as vague as that paled in the face of a greater truth. Robin was just a child. A child in the clutches of a psychopath that had nothing but ill intentions for the boy. Right now, Robin _needed _Batman more than ever.

Before it was too late for everyone.

* * *

For a brief, delirious moment, Robin thought that he was on a boat. The gentle swaying, back and forth, was almost soothing. He could hear the sound of waves, the caw of seagulls, the bellow of boat horns. With his eyes closed and his mind half-conscious, it was easy to imagine himself on one of Wayne Tech's yachts with Bruce, the pair of them taking one of their rare vacations. He could practically taste the salt in the air as he envisioned Bruce in that god-awful Hawaiian shirt he seemed to reserve purely for these outings. It felt good. For a moment.

Then he woke up.

The first thing that was kind of impossible not to notice was the pain. It seemed to be coming from every fibre of his body, like his brain had been overloaded with sensory information and just decided that _everything_ hurt. Between the pounding in his head and the burning in his shoulder he couldn't decide which agony was worse, so he tried very hard not to think about either.

Instead he listened for the sounds of his jailers, but everything seemed quiet. Maybe it was over now. Bruce had probably found him ages ago and he was now in the batcave coming out of the sedatives that Alfred had given him. Yeah… that was it. He was home.

"Well, it's about damn time, Wonder Boy!"

_Or not._

"I was beginning to think that Ol' Jackie Boy had hit you on the head _too_ hard!" The Joker's voice shattered Robin's brief illusion of safety, and reluctantly the Boy Wonder cracked open his eyes. He was greeted by the clown's pasty white face which was blocking most of the sunlight that streamed through the warehouse's high windows. He had been out for a few hours at least. "I guess my retiring of him was a little premature, but never mind that now! You're awake!"

Robin blinked, his brain taking a while to wake up due to the concussion. "Retire?"

"Oh yes," the Joker agreed, stepping aside so that Robin could see behind him. Crumpled on the floor against the wall was a thin man in an old fashioned suit and top hat. An eternal grin split his features in half. "After all the trouble I went through getting him to Arkham and the madman has the audacity to try and ruin_ my_ fun? It's just so difficult to find good staff these days."

It took far too long for the Joker's words to process, but even when they did they still didn't make any sense. The Joker had arranged for Springheeled Jack to go to Arkham? _How?_ More importantly, _why? _What was the point of dragging a serial killer across the Atlantic just to capture one kid? Did this mean that Joker had also orchestrated the Arkham breakout? Maybe he had made sure that Batman was occupied with Grundy… Springheeled Jack had been _waiting…_ And what had Harley said on that rooftop…?

"_I want to soften you up!"_

There… there was no way… "You… you planned… _everything?"_ Robin asked, struggling to catch his breath between syllables. His right arm hung uselessly by his side, but he had wrapped his other hand around the hook in an attempt to alleviate some of the strain on his chest. He was going to asphyxiate at this rate. If the blood loss and head injury didn't kill him first.

The Joker cocked his head to one side and grinned. "Well… I can't take _all _the credit." He paused, as if thinking over his master plan, and then he spread his arms wide like a showman. "Well actually, I _can!_ It is frighteningly easy to pull off a show like this from inside a cell, you know. A few words in the right ears… some good old fashioned scare tactics and suddenly all the dominoes are falling in a line! _Wonderful_ place, Arkham. I almost call it home!"

_He's messing with you_, Robin tried to tell himself. It was a trick to make him feel even more helpless than he already did - to make him feel like the Joker had held all the cards all along. There was just no way that the Joker had organised all of this. It _wasn't _possible.

"But let's not talk about the past Bird Boy!" Joker exclaimed as he skipped forward and gave Robin a light shove, sending him swinging like a piñata. It took every shred of willpower he had, but Robin swallowed the groan of pain that wanted to escape. He squeezed his eyes shut and silently begged for the world to stop spinning, Joker's words barely registering through the haze. "It's dull, and we don't have time to waste! There are still so many games to play before Batsy gets here – and then the Grand Finale! Oo! I just can't wait!"

Robin squinted through one eye as the swaying began to slow. "Grand… Finale?"

The Joker grinned, Cheshire cat wide, and then gripped Robin's arms like he wanted to hug the boy. Robin didn't know which would be worse – slowly being tortured to death or being hugged by the homicidal clown. Thankfully, he didn't have to experience the latter. "I have truly outdone myself this time! I'm a genius, I know, but this… _this_ is my _pièce de résistance_! Come, let me show you!"

Using Robin as a ballast, the Joker spun them both in a 180 so that they were now facing the opposite wall. The pain of the extra weight pulling on his impaled shoulder made his vision white out for a moment, but when it finally cleared, he kind of wished that he still couldn't see.

Before him was the biggest bomb that he had ever seen. Usually, explosives are quite small, as to be honest, it doesn't take a whole lot of C4 to make a big bang, but clearly the Joker had never heard the phrase 'less is more'. It looked like something out of a old Looney Tune cartoon. A keg of gunpowder was surrounded by sticks of dynamite. An oil drum with the words HIGHLY FLAMMABLE printed across it was right next to a flamethrower. An open gas can was on its side, its contents spread across the floor in a deadly puddle. Everything was wired to timers ranging from digital to hand wound alarm clocks.

It looked like a pyromaniac's wet dream.

"Overkill is underrated, I say," the Joker said proudly after giving Robin a few moments to just soak in the sight. "It's magnificent, isn't it? I know its missing the classic plastic explosives, but the fence offered me the flamethrower instead and I just couldn't say no!"

Robin couldn't find the words to retort. All he could think about was just how big a boom that pile of flammable material would make.

The Joker took his silence for criticism, and pouted at his captive like he really valued Robin's opinion. "What do you think? It needs more dynamite, doesn't it? No… it's the flamethrower, isn't it? It just doesn't fit with the whole 'massive pile of doom' thing I've got going on. Tell me, you can be honest with me. After all, you're a part of it!"

"Part… of it?" Robin questioned hesitantly, pretty sure that he didn't actually want to know.

Joker nodded eagerly. "This is the _best_ part! You see, you're waiting here, hoping good ol' Daddy Bats comes and saves you, but guess what? I'm hoping for _the same thing!"_ He kicked a crate forward and hopped onto it so that the two of them were face to face – far too close for Robin's liking. And then he grabbed a hold of the hook and pulled them closer. "He'll find you, of course he will. He's brilliant like that – that's my Batsy! But… what's this…?"

Joker looked up dramatically, his hand walking up the chain. Robin followed the movement, craning his neck painfully to see what the Joker was looking at. Wrapped in the links of the metal chain was a thin, barely visible wire. Robin traced the chain with his eyes all the way back to the bomb, the pieces beginning to click into place.

"Batman comes running in, sees you all helpless and half dead, and throws all caution to the wind!" Joker explained dramatically. "He tries to rescue you, but he doesn't know the genius of my trap! He doesn't realise that _you_ are…"

"The trigger," Robin finished.

"Clever boy!" Joker patted the Boy Wonder on the cheek. "There's a pressure plate built into the hook that's wired to my little beauty over there. If the hook is removed, or your weight is lifted, or the chain is cut, this whole place goes sky high! When Batty comes here and tries to save you… he's going to kill you both! Isn't that _amazing?_"

Robin didn't reply.

Joker sighed. "I guess you wouldn't really appreciate the intricacies of it all, considering you're the one trapped in the middle, but for me… this is as good as it gets. Testing the Bat in the ultimate battle of wits! This is the highlight of my year, really. Me and Batty, we're connected, you see. Caught together in this eternal dance. Taking him out, spectacularly of course, is my ultimate goal. My _raison d'être, _if you will. Oo, I'm liking the French today…"

The Joker wandered off, leaving Robin to stare at the bomb that would soon be ending his short thirteen years of life. Suddenly, the hook in his shoulder felt like a living thing, pulsing with energy and promise. Part of him silently wished that Batman _wouldn't_ find him.

"You know what, I feel a song coming on!" Joker called as he returned to Robin's field of vision, a baseball bat balanced in his hands. He cleared his throat loudly. "_Alouette, gentille alouette! Alouette, je te plumerai!"_

The Joker twirled the bat as he pondered for a moment. "You know, that's not quite right. I mean, _alouette_ means lark, not robin… but it's a bird I guess, so I can work with that… But this _plumerai_ business doesn't quite fit. You don't actually have feathers after all, so I can't really _pluck_ you… Can you speak French? Tell me: how do you say, 'I will _beat_ you'?"

Robin knew the answer, but he just glared defiantly at the Joker.

"Ah, forget it," Joker shrugged, before pulling out his cell phone. "I'll google it."

A few minutes and several curse words later, the Joker had found his answer. "_Je te battre. _Hmmm… doesn't quite fit, but I can make it work. Let's try this again…"

The Joker hefted the baseball bat over his shoulder like he was ready to strike a home run. And then he began to sing:

"_Alouette, gentille alouette! Alouette, je te battre!"_

* * *

**The Joker does like to torture to a song… **


	3. Fears

**Young Justice -:- Hooked**

**Author's Note(s): **Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed last chapter! Revel in your awesomeness and enjoy this next instalment :P

* * *

**Chapter Three -:- Fears**

Alfred watched from a distance, as he always did, ready to be available whenever he was needed. Over the years he had witnessed all the good and the bad that came with assisting the Caped Crusaders. Stressful scenes, such as this one, occurred on a frighteningly regular basis, though the elder gentlemen had to admit that he had never seen Master Bruce as close to breaking as he did at that moment.

Batman's cowl was pulled back, revealing the exhausted and anxiety ridden expression of Bruce Wayne. He had yet to change out of his uniform, despite the many hours that had passed since Robin's disappearance. He hadn't allowed Alfred to treat his injuries either, though they both knew that he was sporting several broken ribs and a mild concussion at the very least. The butler hadn't made the usual attempts to get his charge to take care of himself - there would be time for that later. When Master Richard was home.

A sudden crash made Alfred spin to face Bruce, who was in the process of abusing the keyboard. "Are you sure that is wise, sir?"

"Damn it all!" Bruce yelled, probably not even hearing Alfred's sardonic question. He curled his gloved hands into fists in an attempt to reign in his frustration, his eyes squeezing shut briefly. "There's nothing here! No clues, no evidence, no leads! I can't…"

Bruce cut himself off as he realised what he was about to say. Alfred stepped forward, coming to stand beside the computer console, which had held up surprisingly well under the vigilante's assault.

"I can't find him," Bruce whispered, almost imperceptibly. The loyal butler looked down at his eldest charge, the slight quirk of his brow the only visible sign of his astonishment. The ever stoic Batman would _never_ admit defeat – he was far too stubborn, and maybe even a little too arrogant, for that. Bruce glared up at the multiple computer screens before him, and then down at his hands as he struggled to try and type again. "My… my hands are shaking," he muttered, sounding equal parts appalled and bewildered. "I can't focus… I feel sick… What…?"

"You are _afraid_, sir," Alfred informed the billionaire, earning himself a wide-eyed expression that did not belong on the young man's face – even with the cowl pulled back. He had not seen Bruce this vulnerable since… well, since _that_ night. And then the traumatised boy had shut off all emotion and gradually become a closed-off and driven crime fighter. Perhaps that circus boy had gotten further under Bruce's iron skin than anyone had ever realised…

Bruce blinked as he processed the butler's words. That was when the realisation seemed to hit him. "I can't lose him, Alfred. I just can't."

"Then I suggest that you find him, sir," Alfred replied, not unkindly. "And refrain from any further assaults on the equipment."

The vulnerability vanished under a smooth veneer of determination as Bruce nodded and returned his attention back to the many search programmes that he had running. From where he stood behind his shoulder, the ever-present butler gave a sad smile at his successful prompting. As much as he appreciated the changes that Master Richard had instilled in the Dark Knight, now was not the time for him to come unravelled. If this story was to have a happy ending, they would need the relentlessness of Batman rather than the growing humanity of Bruce Wayne.

Alfred returned to his vigil from the shadows, keeping one eye on his charge as he busied himself with their medical supplies. He didn't want to think about what horrors were being inflicted upon the young master, but his practical side told him to be prepared for anything. He began cataloguing everything, arranging gauze and bandages where they would be easily accessible. He even checked their supply of Dick's blood type, knowing that in all likelihood they would be needing it soon.

The one possibly that he didn't allow himself to consider, however, was the worst case scenario. Master Richard _was_ coming home. No matter what.

"_Oooooh Batsy!"_

A chill ran down Alfred's spine as the homicidal clown's voice echoed around the cave. He turned to look back at the monitors, half expecting to see the impossibly wide grin, but it was purely a radio feed. Bruce was instantly on his feet, staring at the screens in lieu of an actual face to batglare out of existence. "Joker," he hissed, his own voice dripping with venom.

"_There you are Bats! I thought you must have gotten lost!" _The Joker replied gleefully. _"I've been waiting so _long _for you now; I figured that you _had_ to be. You're usually so punctual after all."_

"Tell me where you are and I'll be there in seconds, I promise you that," Bruce threatened, taking on the Batman's deeper timbre.

The Joker sounded thoroughly upset. _"You _still _don't know where I am? I'm disappointed Batsy. I can't imagine why you would be so off your game. Can you Bird Boy?"_

A low moan sounded over the connection, making Bruce's posture go completely rigid. "Robin?"

"_Say hello, Boy Blunder, don't be so rude!" _Joker jibed, his words followed by a _smack_ loud enough to make both Bruce and Alfred flinch. _"Daddy Bats wants to talk to you!" _Another hit, this time eliciting a pain-filled groan. Joker tutted like a disappointed teacher. _"Well, I'm sorry Batsy, but Baby Bird's not being very talkative at the moment. Strange, I had him singing like a canary not all that long ago – we were having such a wonderful time!"_

"Leave him alone, Joker," Bruce demanded dangerously.

"_Oh I will Batsy! When you pull your finger out and come and find us already! I'm getting sooo-ooo-ooo bored! And Wonder Boy's stopped being any fun!_" Joker sighed heavily. _"If you don't come soon, I might just have to call it quits. All that planning… wasted. But I'll make sure that you find the Birdie, Bats. It will be... _unforgettable."

A beep sounded from one of the consoles, and Alfred noticed that Bruce had a tracer programme running, and it had just got a hit. Batman smiled grimly. "I'm on my way now, Joker."

"_Finally!" _The Joker exclaimed like a kid on Christmas morning. _"I'll roll out the welcome wagon for you Batsy! This is gonna be a _blast!_"_

* * *

The Joker threw back his head with laughter. "A _blast!_ Why… I crack myself up!"

Robin peered through half-closed eyelids, his concussed mind struggling with the concept of consciousness let alone anything else. He was in so much pain that his brain had stopped telling him about it, leaving him oddly numb, like his body didn't quite belong to him anymore. His vision was tinged with grey as he tried to focus on his captor.

"Did you hear that Wonder Boy?" Joker asked as he carelessly dropped a radio on the ground, the device shattering on contact with the concrete. "Batty's on his way! Isn't that great?!"

_Batty…? Wait… _Bruce? _Bruce was coming?_ Hope fluttered in Robin's battered chest as he processed the Joker's words. But then his sluggish thoughts caught up. Batman was on his way – but he didn't know about the bomb… when he showed up to rescue him… _it'll be all over._ "No…" Robin slurred, the one syllable escaping his raw throat and reminding him that he was hurting. A lot.

"Oh yes!" Joker countered from where he was collecting up his coat and hat. "Look on the bright side, Tweetie Pie! It will all be over soon! And when you go careening through those pearly gates – on fire and _screaming – _you won't be all by your lonesome. You'll have Bats to keep you company! Isn't _that_ great?!"

Robin tried his very best to glare at the Joker, but he was having trouble focusing on all the painfully bright colours.

"Aww, don't look at me like that!" Joker cooed as he skipped up to where the Boy Wonder was hanging. He pulled a fedora down over his green hair and gave Robin an almost forlorn look. "You're reminding me of dear ol' Daddy Bats… Makes me sad that I'm gonna miss the main event…"

"Stick around…" Robin hissed between bloody lips that he had practically chewed off as he had tried not to scream for the psycho's sick pleasure. He grinned darkly. "It's gon-na… be a… _blast…_"

Joker smiled at his captive appreciatively. "You've grown up good, Wonder Boy! Much more fun than you _used_ to be." The joviality vanished, as if the madman had suddenly switched between masks – from comedy to tragedy. From pride to anger. "But when you _first_ came along – that's a whole different story. A tiny little brat trailing after the Dark Knight's cape? I _hated _you," the clown glared at Robin and prodded at the blood stained 'R' on his chest. "You distracted _my_ Batty with your cutesy innocence and fancy acrobatics. And the bright colours? _That_ was _my_ shtick!"

The Joker lashed out angrily, smacking Robin square across the chest, making his already abused ribcage scream out in protest. He was swinging again, but his equilibrium was already so screwed up from the concussion that his swimming vision couldn't even tell the difference.

"Me and Bats – we used to chase each other _all_ the live long day! I'd try to blow up City Hall, and Bats would come flying in and knock me down. Then there would be hostages and screaming and incompetent cops and all sorts of fun stuff… but in the end it would always come down to _me_ and _Batman_. Then _you_ came along."

Robin was struggling to stay conscious – not that he really wanted to listen to the Joker's version of the Ballad of The Dark Knight and The Clown Prince of Crime – but because Batman was coming. He _had _to stay awake. He _had _to warn his mentor… there was no way that he was going to let Joker's plan succeed in killing _both_ of them.

"Suddenly Bats had more important things to worry about!" the psychopath continued, turning away from Robin and pacing in front of the bomb as he reminisced about all the wrongs that the Boy Wonder had committed against him. "It was my greatest plan – a _masterpiece _– detonate a rocket full of Joker venom in low orbit – make _the whole world smile! _Bats showed up on cue, set about thwarting my shenanigans. But then _you_ got dosed and started giggling all over the place. Without a second thought about _me_, Bats grabbed you up and took you away!"

The story was vaguely familiar, Robin guessed, but through the haze of the head trauma he couldn't really remember anything beyond the pain and terror of the laughing fit he had been locked in that day.

"I could have gotten away with it!" The Joker paused in his pacing and spun around dramatically to face the hanging boy again. "Can you imagine what the world would have been like now?! But I couldn't. Not without Bats there to stop me! It wouldn't have been a victory!"

"So… basically," Robin retorted between hitched breaths. "We should… ignore… you."

The Joker turned on Robin so fast that the boy didn't even know what had happened until his foggy mind registered the fireworks of pain once again. He had no idea where the clown had been hiding the baseball bat that had smacked into the side of his head – in fact he didn't know a whole lot of anything anymore. His vision whited out, his ears rang – the darkness called for him so invitingly… but there was _something_ important… he couldn't pass out… _what was it…?_

"NOBODY IGNORES ME!" Joker screamed, even though Robin couldn't hear him anymore. "_Nobody. _Batman will _never _ignore me again. Not now that I've straightened out his priorities, right Wonder Boy?

"Wonder Boy…?" The Joker turned to look at Robin expectantly; poking his unconscious form with the end of the bat but getting no response. He sighed. "Now look what you made me do! You're supposed to be _awake_ when Batty gets here! How am I supposed to get the full effect of the moment he finds you if you're not conscious enough to utter your heart breaking last words?"

Unsurprisingly, Robin didn't answer.

"You're always ruining my fun," Joker pouted as he dropped the bat and checked his watch. "Well, would you look at the time?! I've gotta run! The Guest of Honour should be arriving any minute now!"

The Joker gave everything a final check-over and then skipped over to the door, the light of a streetlamp casting him in yellow as he turned to give the Boy Wonder one last grin.

"It's been a _blast._"

* * *

"The docks," Bruce said by way of explanation as he marched over to the Batmobile, his long black cape billowing behind him. The moment that he stepped on the circular platform that the high-tech car was parked on, it began to spin, turning the front of the vehicle towards the waterfall exit. "I've called in a bomb threat to clear the area until the GCPD bomb disposal unit shows."

Alfred followed dutifully, coming to a stop beside the Batmobile as Bruce climbed into the driver's seat. "A bomb threat, sir?"

"With the Joker involved, it's not all that unlikely," Bruce replied as he pulled the cowl back over his head, anxiety ridden blue eyes vanishing behind white lenses. Batman started up the engine, and then paused, looking over at the butler. "I'm going to need you, Alfred."

The elder gentlemen nodded. "Indubitably, sir. As always I will be ready and waiting for yours and Master Richard's return. I have already called Doctor T…"

"No, Alfred," Batman interrupted, making the butler blink at him in as close an expression to surprise as he ever got. "I need you to come with me. Robin may not be able to survive a round trip."

"I… I understand, sir," Alfred's usually unflappable countenance stuttered. "But by your own protocols…"

"Damn them!" Batman snapped harshly. The elder gentlemen studied his charge for but a moment, realising just how badly Robin's kidnapping had affected the Dark Knight. Maintaining their secret identities was always top priority – no matter what. Even in the unthinkable (yet tragically likely) event of death, measures were in place to protect their civilian alter egos. Alfred was easily identifiable as the Wayne family's loyal butler, ever present at the billionaire's side. If he was spotted with Batman… well… it wasn't that bigger leap of logic. For Bruce to run the risk…

"Understood, sir," Alfred nodded. He then hurried around to the passenger side of the Batmobile and climbed into the seat usually reserved for Robin. Before he had even fastened his seatbelt he was thrown back against the headrest as Batman gunned the throttle.

It was a clear night for a city as pollution ridden as Gotham. As they thundered across the RK Memorial Bridge and into the slums of Crime Alley, a full moon attempted to brighten the smoggy sky. The few stars bright enough to shine broke through the constant cloud that shrouded the tallest towers of the city. The Dark Knight and his butler veered through the streets at speeds that would have left a formula one car in the dust, eating up the miles between them and the docks on the southwest banks.

It took fifteen minutes. A nigh on impossible time to cross a city as vast as Gotham, and yet as the Batmobile skidded to a stop among the maze of cargo containers, that fifteen minutes felt like an eternity. At the very edge of the docks, practically on the coast of Gotham River, was the warehouse.

Batman's trained eyes studied the building and its surroundings, before he opened the canopy and climbed out of the vehicle. "Stay in the car," he ordered the butler.

Alfred didn't need telling twice. "Yes, sir."

Batman knew it was a trap. It was fairly obvious. But that wasn't going to dissuade the Dark Knight from entering. All senses were on high alert for an ambush, or trip wires, or _anything_ potentially deadly. This was the Joker that he was dealing with – he couldn't afford to be careless, no matter how much he simply wanted to run to his son's side.

Satisfied that an attack would not be coming at him from outside, Batman headed straight for the main door. It opened with the squeal of old metal, loudly announcing his presence. Not that he should have been worried – the Joker was long gone. There was only one person waiting for him in the warehouse, and he couldn't hear anything anyway.

"Robin…" Batman breathed; horror, rage and fear fighting for precedence as he took in his protégé's broken body.

The closer he got, the hotter the rage boiled, creating a tunnel vision as he closed the distance between them. Robin was suspended from the hook run through his right shoulder, his chin resting on his chest as his unconscious form swayed in the light breeze. His uniform was torn and stained a far darker shade of its optimistic red, the precious liquid dripping in the puddle on the floor beneath him. Bruises covered every inch of exposed skin.

Batman came around to stand before his son, his hand reaching up to his neck. He pressed two fingers against the Boy Wonder's throat, relieved when he was rewarded with a faint pulse. He lightly touched his son's cheek, ignoring the blood from the head wound that almost instantly soaked his hand. "Robin? Robin, can you hear me?"

He got no response – not even a twitch. But he guessed that that was to be expected as he took in the damage to the side of Robin's head. From above his left ear to the 'R' on his uniform, a river of sticky blood coated his white skin and clotted in his dark hair. Batman didn't even want to think about the damage that he couldn't see. He didn't want to know what the Joker had done to cause it. He was just glad that his son wasn't awake to feel the pain that he had to be in.

Batman shook his head to try and bury the emotions threatening to overwhelm him in that moment. He needed to think straight and help his son, not get lost in the horror. He reached for the hook, trying to figure out the best way to get Robin down without making things worse. He gently began to pry his son's fingers from around the metal, mortified to find that some of them were dislocated from being wrapped so tightly around the hook to alleviate the pressure.

"_Opri…"_

Batman's attention snapped to Robin's face as his son's strained voice suddenly reached him. Blue eyes dragged open slowly, but there was no focus in them. "Robin?" he asked quietly, not wanting to aggravate his head trauma any worse than it already was. "Robin, can you hear me?"

Robin struggled to draw in a breath, his eyes trying to find Batman's face as they refused to focus. _"Opri… nu face… capcană…"_

Romani. Robin was speaking his native tongue, a language that Batman didn't know. He couldn't understand what his son was saying, but that wasn't what really concerned him. It had been four years since Dick had spoken Romani conversationally on a regular basis – he had already known basic English when Bruce had adopted him. Never before when he had been hurt had he ever slipped back into his native language – the fact that he had reverted now… coupled with the head trauma…

"Dick…" Bruce whispered as he hooked a finger beneath his son's chin and lifted his head slightly so that he could look him in the eye. "Can you… can you understand me…?"

Robin gave him a confused look, as if he didn't get the question. And then he blinked slowly. _"Capcană_..." he repeated, looking determined, even as he sounded weak. _"Cârlig... bombă... în spatele tău..."_

Dick purposely looked over Batman's shoulder, making the older man turn. For the first time, he saw the Joker's bomb in all its glory. He took in the mountain of flammable material in an instant, briefly wondering how he had missed it before – but then again, Robin's state of being had been rather distracting. He saw the jumble of timers and wires and knew that he would never be able to dismantle this Frankenstein of a bomb. But then he noticed one particular wire – practically invisible in the darkness of the warehouse – wrapped around a chain that led from the bomb, to the roof, and down to the hook embedded in his son's shoulder.

"You're the trigger," Batman realised as he reassessed the situation. Robin gave him a look as if to say _'duh! That's what I've been trying to tell you!' _before his face scrunched up in pain again. "If I get you free – the bomb goes off. _Damn you_ Joker!"

How in the heck was he supposed to get them out of this one? He couldn't leave Robin hanging there much longer – it was clearly getting harder for the boy to simply breathe – and he couldn't run the risk of Joker getting bored and just blowing the place up by remote anyway. He didn't have the time to disarm the bomb or deactivate the trigger mechanism… _How?_

"_Merge..."_ Robin muttered, his eyes slipping closed again. Batman was surprised that he was conscious at all, let alone trying to warn him. Dick lifted his right arm; his left hand still firmly clamped around the hook, and brushed his fingers against the shoulder of Bruce's cape. "_Lăsa…__lasă-mă…"_

"I… I don't understand…" Bruce replied, catching Dick's hand before it could fall back to his side. Although, that wasn't strictly true. He knew his son well enough to know what he was saying, even if they weren't currently speaking the same language. He squeezed Dick's hand, making the boy open his eyes one final time. "I'm _not _leaving you, do you hear me? That's what the Joker wants. But I'm not leaving you," Bruce paused, trying to remember one of the phrases Dick had taught him, "_îți promit."_

This time, when Dick closed his eyes, Bruce knew that he wouldn't be opening them again for a while (if ever – but he refused to admit that). Determined, angry and afraid, Batman realised that he didn't have time to be gentle. He drew a sharp baterang from his belt as he came to stand by Robin's side.

He would have to make this _fast._

With a decade's worth of well-practiced skill, Batman threw the tool of his trade, not needing to watch it to know that it was flying true. He heard the _shink_ of the baterang slicing through the chain – heard the near-silent _click_ of a timer being armed – but he ignored it in favour of focusing on the rapidly descending body of his protégé. He caught Robin with open arms, hating how frail and still the boy felt against the armour of his uniform.

He was already moving as he glanced back at the timers on the bomb.

_5… 4… 3… 2…_

* * *

**The Joker is a ridiculously difficult character to write. Followed closely by Batman. Why am I writing a fic where these two are main characters again? ****Never mind. Please let me know how I'm doing… constructive criticism welcome! See you ASAP for the next instalment - though chapter five is being a pain to write at the moment, so I might hold off on posting chapter four until it's a bit closer to being done...**

**TRANSLATIONS: (Courtesy of Google Translate – Romanian)**

**Opri: **Stop  
**Nu face: **Don't  
**Capcană: **Trap**  
Cârlig: **Hook**  
****Bombă: **Bomb**  
****În spatele tău: **Behind you**  
****Merge: **Go**  
****Lăsa: **Leave**  
****Lasă-mă: **Leave me**  
****Îți promit: **I promise


	4. Consequences

**Young Justice -:- Hooked**

**Author's Note(s): **Thank you so, _so_ much to everyone for reviewing! I'm glad that I seem to be getting Bats and the Joker down okay - it's not so much writing the dialogue for them that's the issue, it's getting them to do things without it being out of character (there is a prime Batman example coming up in this chapter... which I'm _still _not sure about, but its kind of necessary for the plot to go in the right direction)

Apologies to **KizzenNekoLuzZeBatgangYJ **for the terrible Romanian last chapter... I obviously don't speak the language and I had no idea how wrong Google Translate was - In advance, there is some more gratuitous Romanian at the end of this chap as well which is probably just as terrible... :S

Now, this is the moment where I usually screw up a fic by ruining the ending. I have always been significantly better at writing the 'hurt' part of Hurt/Comfort – in fact I normally skip the 'comfort' part altogether… But not this time! This time I'm done torturing our little bird (physically, anyway…) and we're only _half-way_ through this story! Holy cow, Batman!

But yeah, please ignore me now. Enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter Four -:- Consequences**

_Stay in the car._

This is something easier said than done. Though the butler was all too aware of the logic behind the order, and while he wasn't keen to throw himself into one of the Joker's elaborate traps – Alfred did not appreciate being told to wait in the car. Inactivity while the young master waited for their rescue was frustrating to say the least. But he would do as he was told.

He sat in the warm interior of the Batmobile, trying to still his foot which was nervously tapping against the floor. He clasped his hands in his lap, preventing them from performing any annoying activities of their own. It was just not proper to behave in such a manner.

He had already gone through the first aid kit that he had prepared for the Batmobile, confident that he would be able to find anything he needed quickly and efficiently should the need arise. This left him with nothing to do but to stare out of the windscreen at the ominous warehouse. It was no different from the others around it, except for the fact that it had been chosen by the Joker to house the unknown tortures inflicted upon Robin.

And then it exploded.

The force of the shockwave sent the Batmobile skidding several metres, almost rolling it onto its roof. But the armour plating had taken the brunt of the hit and absorbed most of the heat, leaving its lone occupant unscathed beyond a few bruises.

The night was suddenly lit by the bright flames that engulfed what was left of the warehouse. The yellow glare reflected on the polarised glass of the car's windshield as Alfred found himself staring in shock at the death trap that his charges had been in just moments before.

But then his old training with Her Majesty's Secret Service kicked in. He slung the first aid kit over his shoulder as he hit the button on the console that retracted the canopy door. The moment that the night air met the elder gent's face he could feel the extreme heat from the flames... _Just what had the Joker used to fuel them?_

He choked on the thick smoke that billowed into the air, pressing the sleeve of his jacket against his face to work as a filter in the absence of something more effective. Shrapnel from the warehouse was scattered over a hundred yards away from where it had been pre-explosion, parts of the surrounding structures joining them amongst the rubble. Despite the light from the fire, it was nigh on impossible to see as Alfred clambered over the junk in an effort to find his charges.

He was halfway around the perimeter when he first saw the flashing lights in the distance. The GCPD and the bomb squad that Batman had called were already on their way before the explosion – and now they were practically on top of them. If they found Batman and Robin among the wreckage before he did… If they saw the Wayne family butler where he really had no right to be…

"Master Bruce!" he called carefully, double-checking that there was no one nearby beforehand. He ended up doubled-over in a coughing fit as he swallowed too much smoke, but he forced himself to continue onwards. Up ahead, he could just make out something moving through the haze, and he quickly hurried towards it. A sheet of charred metal lifted slightly, a low groan reaching the butler's ears even over the roar of the fire. Carefully, he helped to lift the rubble pinning the man beneath. "Master Bruce?"

Batman's cape and cowl were smoking, the special polymer otherwise undamaged from the explosion. The vigilante pushed himself up on one arm, the appendage struggling to hold his weight. "Alfred…" he coughed. "Dick…"

The butler understood, quickly coming round to the Dark Knight's other side and lifting the heavy cape. Beneath it was a sight that Alfred would never forget. The broken body of the Boy Wonder lay on his side, covered in blood, with one hand clamped around a hook that was run through his shoulder. Gently, Alfred gathered Robin in his arms and pulled him out from under the human shield that Batman had provided. Exhausted and hurt himself, Bruce dropped to the ground, trying to clear the disorientation from his head.

Alfred allowed him but a moment as his trained eyes studied the boy in his arms. He took in the head trauma, the broken bones, the strained breathing and that godforsaken hook, and knew that he was way out of his depth. He wrapped gauze around the most serious injuries, knowing that he was trying to use a pebble to plug a waterfall.

The flashing lights were getting closer.

"Master Bruce," Alfred said sternly, getting the Dark Knight's attention. One white lens had vanished from the cowl in the explosion, and the butler could see the concussion in his revealed eye. "The police are nearly here. We need to leave."

Batman nodded, and then set about climbing to his feet. He gave no complaints of pain as he straightened out his battered body, and then knelt down to take the boy from Alfred's arms. They both took great care as they situated Robin in a way that would hopefully cause him the least discomfort, his head resting against his mentor's shoulder. "Alfred…" Bruce asked, and then he glanced down at Dick, unable to voice the question.

"His condition is very serious," Alfred answered as he tucked a folded piece of gauze between Dick's head and Bruce's shoulder, using the gravity of the position to apply the necessary pressure. "He is beyond my capabilities, and I'd imagine Dr Thompkins' as well. Perhaps it is time to call for help."

"Let's get to the car," Bruce instructed as they both rose and headed as quickly as they could back to the Batmobile. The wreckage was no easier to traverse on the return journey, and by the time that they reached the vehicle they could hear the engines of the police cars and the crunch of tyres on gravel. Just as Bruce had climbed into the passenger seat with Dick in his lap, the full force of the GCPD came screeching into the clearing. "Go."

Alfred floored the accelerator, causing the wheels to spin uselessly for a second before they shot off like a bat out of hell. The police passed curious glances at the rapidly retreating Batmobile, but thankfully, the inferno threatening to take out the entire dockyard kept them distracted from pursuing. "And where am I going, sir?"

Bruce looked down at the bundle tucked against him, listening to the pained gasps that escaped his ward's lips. "Find the nearest zeta tube."

Alfred nodded in satisfaction and relief, thankful that Bruce wasn't insisting on handling things 'in house' as he usually did. The young master was fading fast even as they sped through the streets – for his sake, they needed the Justice League's help.

Over the roar of the batmobile's engine, Alfred could barely hear Bruce whispering to the unconscious Dick, but he just caught a snippet as he swerved the car past Wayne Tower.

"Please don't leave me, Dickie-bird," he muttered. _"Am nevoie de tine."_

* * *

Even though the Watch Tower wasn't a hospital – it wasn't white, or sterile, or permeated with the stench of sickness – and yet as Bruce Wayne waited for news on his ward's condition, he was still haunted by the same discomfort that hospitals instilled in him.

He had been banned from the medical bay about three minutes after handing over Dick's barely breathing form. Apparently his presence and behaviour was 'overbearing' and 'non-conducive to helping Robin'. With a growl, Bruce had been forced to leave and soon found himself pacing the corridor outside. This lasted maybe five minutes. And then he had tried to leave so that he could channel his anxiety and anger into something more productive.

I.e. pummelling the Joker into a bloody pulp.

This time Clark had intervened, saying those stupid, logical things that couldn't help but diffuse his blind fury just a _tiny_ bit.

And so Bruce found himself back in the corridor, staring at the closed doors between him and his son. It had only been a couple of hours since he had last seen Dick, and he knew that with the condition he was in that there was still several more hours to wait yet. But not knowing – not being able to help, or act, in _any_ way, was driving him mad. All he could see whenever he closed his eyes, was Dick just _hanging_ there, his limbs twisted, his uniform torn… _blood. Everywhere._

Fear. Bruce was not familiar with the emotion that made his hands shake and his stomach threaten to give him a second look at his breakfast, but as he sat there, slumped in a plastic chair and just _waiting_, he began to deconstruct it.

He had never felt anything like it before – not since he was a little boy in an alleyway kneeling in a pool of his parents' blood. He had done everything that he could to become stronger, smarter, braver, so that he would never have to feel that way again. But then Dick had come along, giving him something so very important to worry about – something to _lose_. Bruce had tried to tell himself that he wouldn't get_ that_ attached – to be honest; he didn't think it was even possible for him. Dick had even said at the beginning that he wasn't looking for someone to replace his parents. And yet somehow, they had formed that dynamic anyway.

Bruce had been Dick's pseudo-parent and mentor for four years now; he wasn't naïve or dumb enough to think that he hadn't become attached and protective towards the boy – but it wasn't until the moment when he had almost lost him that he realised just how much Dick meant to him.

Pure terror had practically crippled him from the first prickle of paranoia that warned him that something was wrong, to the horror of finding Dick so… so _broken_. Even now, as the adrenaline wore off and the fight for his son's life was taken out of his hands, he could feel the fear like a physical presence weighing down on him. How could one boy mean so much to him, without him even realising that it had happened? How could he have ever put something so precious, so frighteningly _fragile_ in harm's way?

"I'm such an idiot," Bruce muttered under his breath as he dropped his head into his hands.

"I'm not going to argue with that," Superman retorted from where he had just materialised beside the brooding man, making Batman actually _jump_. It was a testament to Bruce's messed up state that he hadn't noticed Clark's arrival – the red and blue wasn't exactly stealthy. "But is there a particular reason for that sudden epiphany?"

Bruce glared at the Metropolis reporter as he took the seat beside him and joined the waiting room vigil. They sat in silence for a good five minutes as Bruce point blank refused to answer the question. Apparently, according to Alfred and Dick, Clark was as close to a friend that Bruce had – but that didn't mean that he was just going to suddenly confide in him about his insecurities. As far as he was concerned, they were _colleagues_, not friends. _Batman_ didn't have insecurities. He didn't _fear_ anything.

At least, that's what he kept telling himself.

Eventually, Clark sighed. "You can talk to me, you know. It won't make me think any less of you to know that you _are _actually human underneath the cowl."

Bruce ignored him, instead focusing intently on the double doors as if he would suddenly develop x-ray vision. And then it occurred to him that he was sitting next to a Kryptonian that had both that _and_ super-hearing. Taking a moment to level his tone, he asked "Can you tell what's going on in there?"

Clark glanced in the direction of the operating theatre, and hesitated. Bruce narrowed his eyes at the reporter through the white lenses of the cowl. "It's… it's going well. Robin's okay. He's… he's still alive."

That wasn't overly reassuring. Bruce glared more intently at the Boy Scout to try and drag out some more details. But somehow, _amazingly_, Clark seemed immune. "So, what actually happened?" he deflected, avoiding the Dark Knight's gaze and concentrating on the décor. "You never really explained anything beyond 'the Joker'."

Bruce contemplated not answering; he didn't particularly want to relive the events of the past day and a half, and he knew that once Clark knew the whole story that he would want to help even though the Joker was purely _his_ villain. Maybe it was because he was exhausted, or maybe he had just fulfilled his quota of stoicism avoiding the original question. Whatever the reason, Bruce found himself talking. He told Clark everything, from the Arkham breakout to finding Robin in that damn warehouse. He kept it professional, succinct – trying to put as much distance between himself and his fears, but Clark studied him as if he could read between the lines.

"No wonder you wanted to go after that maniac," Clark murmured once Bruce was finished, his hands clenched into fists as if he was plotting revenge on the Joker as fervently as Bruce was. He climbed to his feet, looking toward the operating theatre for a moment before turning back to the Dark Knight who was watching him closely. "We'll get him, Bruce."

"No," Bruce said forcefully as he stood as well, standing toe-to-toe with Superman. "Joker is _mine._"

"We can't just let him run loose in the city!"

"Then you should have let me go after him earlier," Bruce countered darkly, grabbing Clark's arm to stop him from flying off half-cocked. "He's expecting me to be hunting him down right now. He'll be hiding for a while – that's the only reason I let you talk me out of it."

Clark met Bruce's eyes, probably using the x-ray vision to meet his blue eyes through the cowl. "We both know that's not true," he said forcefully. "You know that I'm right – that you need to be here for Robin. That's why you stayed. It's got nothing to do with the Joker."

"I don't need you to fight my battles."

"He went after _Robin_, Bruce," Clark replied, his eyes once again flickering to the waiting room doors and the emergency surgery taking place beyond. "He isn't just _your_ kid – he's important to all of us. No one on the League is going to just sit back and ignore him when they find out…"

Bruce had never truly realised just how endearing his boy wonder was to everyone he met. Dick just had that way about him, he didn't even try to make people like him – they just _did_. Every member of the Justice League that knew his identity; and even those that didn't, they were all protective over Robin. Clark was right. The moment that they found out… he'd have an army of metahumans rampaging through Gotham, despite Batman's strict rules to the contrary.

He couldn't allow that. They didn't _understand_ the city. And they definitely didn't understand the Joker.

"They're going to have to," Bruce growled back. "_No one_ is going after the Joker except for me. It's my city. My psychopath! You don't know how to deal with…"

"You think I can't handle one crazy person?" Clark interrupted with an incredulous eyebrow.

"The Joker is…"

"Bruce," Clark cut-off sharply, his head cocking to one side as he listened to something that Bruce couldn't hear. The Dark Knight watched carefully as Clark threw one final look towards the operating theatre. "Stop. You need to be_ here_. Dick… Dick's really going to need _you_… as a father figure, not a vengeful vigilante. Stay. Wait. Look after him. And just this once, let _me_ take care of the Joker."

Bruce looked past Clark's shoulder at the waiting room doors. "What is going on in there? _Tell _me."

Clark shook his head regretfully. "Just _be there_ for him Bruce."

And with that, the Man of Steel walked away, leaving the Dark Knight to his silent vigil.

* * *

Four days. Five hours. And twenty-two minutes.

That's how long Bruce had been sitting by Dick's bedside, watching the steady rise and fall of his tiny chest beneath the blankets. The constant beeping of the heart monitor and the whispers and clicks of the machines had become the soundtrack to Bruce's days and nights; reassuring enough in their consistency to lull him into the handful of short naps he had taken since this nightmare started.

Gradually, the number of wires and tubes attached to the Boy Wonder had lessened, confirming that his condition was improving even though he still looked so pale and small – swamped by the bandages and casts that seemed to cover every inch of him. Dick had so many fractures and breaks that it was a miracle that he wasn't in a full body cast. Bruce couldn't even hold his hand – his right arm was firmly pinned against his side to prevent the intricate surgery done to his shoulder coming undone, and his other hand sported two dislocated and one broken finger.

It had been so damn close – the trauma, the internal bleeding, the infection from the rusted metal of the hook – and that was only the things that Black Canary had begrudgingly admitted. Bruce knew that she and the others weren't telling him about so much more. Something about him not needing to know all the details… that it wouldn't help him to know just _how much_ damage the Joker had caused.

Bruce shifted in his chair, sitting up straighter so that he could lean forward and brush a stray lock of hair away from his son's eyes. Dick only had half of Robin's messy bangs left – the left side of his head had had to be shaved for the surgery to reconstruct his fractured skull. Every time Bruce imagined the patchwork of stitches beneath the white bandage his gut would clench painfully. He had been warned that maybe… that there was a possibility… that Dick might be… _different_ if he woke up.

When. _When_ he woke up.

"Bruce…" Dinah murmured as she entered the room and studied the Dark Knight. She had changed out of the corset and fishnets that usually made up the Black Canary uniform, going for a more casual look. "You should take a break. Maybe go to your room and get some sleep…"

Bruce gave her a look that made her trail off as she realised it was completely pointless. He had lost the bat suit as well, knowing full well that he wouldn't be leaving that room, and only those who already knew his identity even knew that he and Robin were in the Watch Tower. He watched as Dinah checked the machines, jotting down Dick's stats on a tablet computer and adjusting the IV. She looked down fondly at the Boy Wonder, resting a hand on one of the few un-bandaged parts of his chest.

"How is he?" Bruce asked, just about managing to keep the apprehension out of his voice.

"He's getting stronger," Dinah replied with forced confidence. Bruce easily saw right through her, seeing the worry raging behind her light smile. "We've started easing back on the sedatives and painkillers. Hopefully he should wake up in the next few days."

Bruce glanced down at his son's small frame, cataloguing the myriad of injuries buried beneath the layers of gauze and sutures. Dick was saved from feeling the pain while he was blissfully unconscious. When he woke… when he could _feel_ it… Bruce never wanted to see the agony that he had witnessed in Dick's blue eyes that night ever again. "Are you sure… Is he _ready_ for that?"

Dinah chewed her lip for a moment, trying to buy herself a moment to think through her answer. But there really was no nice way of putting it. "He's a tough kid, Bruce. He's getting better every day. But we won't know how bad… We need him to wake up so that we can assess…"

"What are the chances that he has…?" Bruce couldn't bring himself to say it, any more than Dinah could.

Dinah sighed heavily, that single exhale speaking volumes. "Honestly? You can't hit someone around the head _that_ hard without there being… consequences. It could just be some mild amnesia, or it could be something more serious; there could be psychological repercussions, speech or movement problems… regression… But Bruce, this is just guesswork. We won't _know_ the extent of the damage until he wakes up."

Bruce nodded sullenly, not trusting his voice to work properly anymore. Dinah checked everything over one last time and then headed for the door, pausing briefly to squeeze his shoulder reassuringly. Once she was gone, Bruce slumped back in his chair and rubbed tiredly at his eyes. He refused to acknowledge the moisture collecting in his tear ducts, putting it down to his exhaustion rather than the fear and helplessness that had haunted him from the very beginning.

* * *

It would be another three days before Dick woke up.

He made several attempts before then, but each time the pain would drag him back to oblivion before he could open his eyes. A few times he had tried to speak or move, but between the drugs and the head injury he was far too out of it to be coherent or even realise that moving was a _really_ bad thing to do.

The first time that Dick had muttered nonsensical words, Bruce had feared the worst. He had been too stunned to physically react as his son had spoken and quickly succumbed to sleep once again. Internally, his thoughts had been racing at a thousand miles per hour, the apparent confirmation of brain damage making him run through various scenarios – each one more horrific than the last.

It had been Barry of all people, who had managed to talk some sense through the maelstrom of panic taking place behind Bruce's impassive mask. He had explained that most people are a little doolally when trying to break out of an induced coma – something that should have been obvious to the World's Greatest Detective. But to be honest, Bruce wasn't thinking like Batman right then. He was thinking like a father.

And so he had continued his vigil, watching and waiting for his son to wake for real.

It started with a twitch of Dick's right eye. The pace of the heart monitor quickened slightly, making Bruce lean forward expectantly. Dick's breathing grew shallower as he tested his healing body with the occasional spasm of various appendages. A low groan of pain escaped his lips unbidden as he gradually, _finally _opened his eyes.

"Dick…?" Bruce ventured quietly. Hesitantly.

Dick took a long blink, his gaze sliding slowly from the ceiling to settle vaguely in Bruce's direction. He blinked again, the haze clearing a little as he licked his dry lips. "Brsss?"

The Dark Knight could have jumped for joy. Dick recognised him. His ward still knew who he was. He had been so _afraid_ that he wouldn't – that this relationship that he had only just realised had developed could have been erased. But it hadn't. Dick remembered him. Bruce choked a little as answered. "Y-yes, Dickie. It's me."

The corner of Dick's lip twitched as if he was trying for a smile. And then his eyes trailed off, his brow furrowing in confusion as he took in their surroundings. _"Unde suntem?"_

A stab of panic caught Bruce right in the gut, but he forced his voice to sound calm. "I'm sorry?"

Dick gave him a dubious look. _"Unde suntem?" _he repeated, a little slower this time as if worried that he was slurring, rather than speaking another language.

"Dick… I don't understand…" Bruce said softly, trying so very hard to keep the anxiety out of his tone. He refused to jump to conclusions as he had before. There could be a perfectly valid explanation. It didn't mean that… that…

"_Ce vrei să spui?" _Dick asked, completely perplexed.

"You're speaking Romani," Bruce explained. His grip on his son's wrist got a little tighter as he tried to temper his rising panic. "Can you speak English for me, Dickie? Please?"

"_Eu vorbesc engleză,"_ Dick replied with an eye-roll. Bruce just looked at him, waiting, _hoping_ that his son would realise the truth. The pace of the heart monitor grew a little faster as Dick gave a frustrated groan. "_Eu vorbesc engleză!"_

"Can't you hear yourself?" Bruce asked.

Dick squinted at Bruce as if wondering if his mentor had finally lost it. "_Nu înțeleg ce naiba esti… vorbesc… despre …" _his voice trailed off as the realisation began to dawn. The beeping from the machines became even more erratic as the Boy Wonder started to hyperventilate. _"Ce…? De ce nu pot eu…?_

"Shhh, Dickie," Bruce hushed as he stroked his son's hair to try and calm him down. He tried not to look at the bandage on the side of his head, instead focusing on the piercing blue of Dick's eyes. "It's alright… you're okay… everything is going to be fine…"

At least… he _hoped_ so.

* * *

**A different kind of cliffhanger for you :P **

**TRANSLATIONS: (Courtesy of Google Translate – Romanian)  
****Am nevoie de tine: **I need you  
**Unde suntem?: **Where are we?**  
****Ce****vrei să spui****?: **What do you mean?**  
****Eu vorbesc****engleză****: **I am speaking English**  
****Nu înțeleg****ce naiba****esti****… ****vorbesc****… ****despre****…: **I don't understand what the hell you're… talking… about…**  
****Ce****…? ****De ce****nu pot****eu****…?: **What…? Why can't I…?


	5. Nightmares

**Young Justice -:- Hooked**

**Author's Note(s): **Thanks to everyone for leaving the nice shiny comments! I'm getting some mixed responses as to whether or not Bats would know Romani, and actually I agree that he probably would because, you know, he's _Batman._ The reason why I wrote it otherwise is because I wanted to completely isolate Robin with the whole literally not being understood thing and give him lots and lots of delicious angst :D

And to **Moth165 **– Good eyes! :D There were a good few days between writing those two scenes and I didn't catch it until the read through, but I decided to leave it and hope nobody caught the mistake lol. My theory; Batman keeps a spare cowl at the office :P

But anyway – Enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter Five -:- Nightmares**

It was eerily quiet on the Watch Tower.

Dick didn't know whether that was a good thing or not. On the one hand, it meant that he didn't have to face the embarrassment of trying to hold a conversation while his brain could spew nothing but Romani. However, it also meant that he was alone with only his thoughts for company. And right now, that was dangerous.

He didn't remember a whole lot of what had happened. He knew that the Joker had been involved (that maniac's laugh was kinda hard to forget) and that it had hurt, _a lot _(it still did)_._ From what he could feel through the painkillers, he figured that there was barely an inch of him that had escaped unscathed, even though he could tell that it had been a lot worse. He could see the concern in the faces of everyone who had dropped by to visit. They would all look at him like a fragile china doll that could break at any minute.

It was grating, to say the least.

But that wasn't the worst part.

He lifted his hand (the one that wasn't attached to the end of his currently useless arm) and gingerly brushed the bandage on the side of his head. Some of his hair had grown back in the time since the surgery, but he had the sneaking suspicion that he still looked a little bit like Two-Face, though he had yet to be allowed to see his reflection to confirm this. He knew that beneath the gauze was the reason why his ability to speak English had vanished. He could still understand what people were saying, but no matter how hard he tried, he just couldn't get the right words to come out.

He worried what the team would think of having a brain-damaged hacker along on missions. But then again, he doubted that Bruce would even let him anywhere near them until he was fluent again – _if_ he was _ever_ fluent again. Bruce was probably worried that it would compromise his civilian ID or something.

Not that Dick knew what his mentor was thinking. He had barely seen him since he had woken up for real six days ago. Bruce had given him this horrified look as they had both realised that something was terribly wrong with the Boy Wonder, and then… well, they hadn't had a proper conversation since.

Was he disappointed with him? Did he think that because he hadn't managed to survive an audience with the Joker with all his faculties still intact that now he somehow wasn't good enough? Was Dick right to think that he was failing as Robin…?

_Gah!_ Dick internally huffed as he tried to reassure the doubts that haunted him as he was trapped in his hospital bed. He wished that Bruce would just talk to him. Hell, he wished that he could actually _ask_ the questions that plagued him and be understood!

"Hi, Robin," the Flash greeted as he appeared in the door frame, smiling lightly. His bright red costume was slightly torn and scorched as if he had just come back from a mission; his cowl pulled down so that he was half-speedster and half-forensic scientist Barry Allen. Dick gave a small wave in response, not even bothering to try and say 'hello'. "I heard that you're getting out of here today. Looking forward to going back home?"

Dick nodded.

Barry grinned, and then sped over to take Bruce's glaringly vacant seat. "Wally would be so jealous if he knew that you were up here on the Watch Tower," he said, and then shrugged. "Though under different circumstances, of course…"

Dick looked down at the blankets as he imagined what it would be like if he could actually tell Wally, or Roy, or _anyone_ what had happened. He could picture them joking about how lucky he was to visit the secret satellite base (even though he had honestly only seen the _one_ room…) that they were banned from until they were Justice League material. What would it be like if he could actually _talk_ to them, without worrying about his secrets or lying every other sentence…?

Not that that would ever happen. Especially not now. He'd open his mouth, spout gibberish, and they'd just look at him like the damaged goods he was.

"Look, Rob, it's going to be okay," Barry said reassuringly, as if he could read Dick's expression like a book. "_You're_ going to be okay. Dinah is pretty damn sure that this… that this setback is just temporary. Some speech therapy, a couple of months of R&R, and you'll be back to quipping and kicking the bad guy's butts like nothing ever happened."

Dick highly doubted that. "_Dar_ Bruce…"

"Is freaking out right now," Barry finished, making Dick give him a highly incredulous look. "It's true. You know him better than anyone, Robin. He claims that he doesn't feel fear, but that's because he just runs away from it. He cares about you, like a father."

"_Atunci de ce nu__e__aici__?" Then why isn't he here?_ Dick asked, not even caring that he wasn't speaking English.

Barry seemed to get the gist of the question anyway. He leaned forward and placed a hand on Dick's less damaged shoulder. "He was here the whole time. I don't think that he ever left this chair the whole time that you were asleep. He even let Superman go after the Joker."

"_Realmente__?" _His stunned expression said it all, making Barry laugh softly.

"Yeah, really," he agreed. "Don't worry so much. Just concentrate on getting better, and this whole thing is going to end up feeling like a really bad dream."

Dick smiled for the first time in what felt like forever. The doubts weren't gone, far from it, but he was beginning to see that things _might_ just get better. He was still alive after all, which was more than he had been expecting while he had been hanging in that warehouse. Maybe once he was better he could convince Bruce to let him pay the Joker a visit in Arkham. What he wouldn't give to see that psychopath's face when he realised that he had failed.

Barry said his goodbyes and vanished in a gust of wind, leaving the Boy Wonder on his own once again. But he didn't stay that way for long.

Bruce appeared in the doorway, his eyes purposely looking at anything _other_ than Dick. Behind him was Dinah and the wheelchair that would be his transport between there and the zeta-tubes.

"You ready to go home, kiddo?"

* * *

A visit to Arkham Asylum was never fun.

As Batman swept through the halls, flanked on either side by two guards, he silently took in the dismal gothic architecture and the constant soundtrack of wailing and moaning that seemed to come from the very bricks and mortar. The low lighting and damp air made the place feel more like a medieval castle than a medical facility, the building just as deranged as its patients.

They didn't head towards the cells, but took a left, heading along the North Wing and towards the asylum's medical bay. Batman had almost smiled when he had been told where the Joker was currently taking residence, though he still regretted not being the one to put him there.

Superman had shown great restraint when bringing the Joker in. The Clowned Prince was only in a full body cast.

Batman paused outside the door to the secured room as one of the guards stepped forward and unlocked the door. Once the Dark Knight had crossed the threshold, they locked the door behind him and stood to attention outside.

"Oh, Batsy…" The Joker wheezed around one of the many tubes trailing between him and the machines around him, his grin widening as he took in his visitor. "You're alive! I knew you would be – you're far too good to be taken out by one little bomb!"

Batman glared at the homicidal clown, his gloved hands clenched so tightly by his sides – the only outward sign of his struggle to restrain himself.

"I was worried about you," Joker pouted. "When you sent the big Blue Boy Scout after me instead of coming to get me yourself, I feared the worst! But then again, I'm sure you had other things to clean up. Tell me, how long did it take you to find all the pieces of the Boy Blunder?"

Batman forced himself not to react, not to give anything away. The egotistical part of him wanted to smugly tell the Joker that he had failed to kill Robin, to rub in the fact that Batman had beaten him once again. But the more sensible part of his brain told him that if the clown thought that Robin was dead, then he wouldn't go after him again. He could keep his son safe from this psychopath.

"When is the funeral?" Joker asked, as if honestly expecting an invitation. "I'd imagined it will be a closed casket…"

"Why Robin?" Batman interrupted, not particularly wanting to imagine his son's funeral.

The Joker smirked. "I would have thought that'd be fairly obvious, Batsy. Because it was _fun_."

Batman took a step forward, barely stopping himself from crossing the room and wrapping his hands around the murderer's throat.

The Joker laughed gleefully, though he ended up coughing painfully rather quickly. "_There_ you are, Batsy! _My_ Batsy! All glowering and dark and deliciously angsty! _That's _what I've been craving for so long! No more distractions! No more Wonder Boy stealing your attention away from _me!_ Just you and me! That's the way it was always meant to be!"

"No, Joker," Batman said forcefully. "You made a mistake. You went after _my_ protégé. You pissed off the _entire_ Justice League. You are _never_ leaving this cell again."

The Joker smirked. "Oh, Batsy. Greif is making you naïve! You and I both know that I can leave here whenever I want. Arkham is just a halfway house for me. I can walk out the front door tomorrow." He giggled a little and gestured at the body cast. "Well, maybe not tomorrow. But when I can walk, we'll be back to playing our little games once again. I just can't wait!"

"This wasn't _your_ game, Joker," Batman retorted.

The glee vanished from the clown's white face, the grin dipping into a dangerous sneer. "And what is that supposed to mean, Batsy? This was _my_ plan, _my _idea to get you back from the little birdie…"

"Oh sure, you get some creative credit – the Last Laugh nightclub was a nice touch," Batman interrupted, taking another step forward. "But you were just the _distraction_."

"No!" Joker spluttered, his heart monitor spiking.

"It was Black Mask that arranged the prison break," Batman explained, just about resisting smirking as he destroyed the Joker's illusions of grandeur. "He transferred Springheeled Jack from England – only a foreigner who didn't believe your rep would agree to work with you – and set him up to lead Robin to where you were hiding out once you escaped. He used you to keep me occupied while he made a move on the Penguin's territory. The Black Mask is more powerful than ever – and you're _here_. Tell me, Joker, how does it feel to be a pawn in someone else's game?"

"No!" Joker yelled, as he tried to get up and move while constrained in the body cast. As he thrashed weakly, Batman closed the distance between them and studied the machines and wires attached to the criminal. "I killed the Bird! It was my plan! My idea! I killed him! I killed the Bird!"

Batman found the controls for the Joker's morphine drip.

"About that," Batman muttered, unable to resist twisting the knife just a little deeper. With a casual flick he turned off the supply of pain medication. "You didn't really think that a trap like that would beat _me_, did you?"

The Joker stared wide-eyed at the Dark Knight for a moment. "No… I killed the bird…" he murmured.

Batman just smirked, and then he left the room, enjoying the Joker's scream of frustration.

"NOOOOOOOO!"

* * *

"Robin, hack," Aqualad ordered.

The Boy Wonder blinked, glancing at his team leader before taking in his surroundings. They were in some kind of high tech facility – maybe Cadmus, though Robin couldn't really be sure. Everything was bright and white, like a lab, but there were no windows. The air tasted dry, like it was being recycled – maybe they were underground or something.

Kid Flash nudged Robin in the shoulder, trying to inspire action. Robin winced, as if the speedster had hit a bruise, and then looked down to find a data port right in front of him. Quickly, he activated his wrist computer and pulled out the connector cable, line after line of data suddenly appearing on the holographic display.

But he didn't actually know what he was looking for.

Robin threw Kid Flash a helpless look, managing to communicate the question even from behind the lenses of the domino mask. The speedster groaned impatiently. "He's forgotten again!"

Robin furrowed his brow in confusion as Aqualad studied him carefully. "Perhaps it was too soon after the accident to have put him back on active duty."

"Ya think?" Kid Flash asked sarcastically. The Boy Wonder flinched at his best friend's irritation, wondering what the hell he had done wrong to annoy him. _And what was the accident that Aqualad talking about?_ "Okay, for the _hundredth_ time, Rob, we're looking for Supey. Cadmus took him and put him back in a pod, so if you could stop spacing out every five minutes and _find him_ already…"

"Kid Flash!" Aqualad admonished. The speedster shrugged as if he wasn't the one doing anything wrong. "Guard the door."

The redhead did as he was told, but not before passing one more frustrated look at the bewildered hacker.

"I'm sorry, Robin," Aqualad apologised as he placed a reassuring hand on the Boy Wonder's shoulder. Pain spiked throughout Robin's entire arm, making him shrug away from the touch and stagger backwards. Aqualad looked at him sympathetically. _What the hell was going on?_ "Kid is just upset from losing Superboy; he does not mean to be so short with you."

"I don't understand what's happening," Robin replied. "I don't remember how I got here."

Aqualad sighed. "Can you locate Superboy?"

That wasn't any of the answers that Robin was hoping for, but he guessed that a kidnapped teammate was kind of more important than his memory problems. He nodded and then returned his attention to his wrist computer. Within moments he pulled up the file for Project Kr and skim read through the information. "They've got him on level sixteen, but there's se…"

"Where?" Aqualad interrupted.

Robin threw him a questioning look, but repeated himself regardless. "Level sixteen. But they've increased…"

"Robin, where is Superboy?" Aqualad asked again, this time loud enough to draw Kid Flash away from where he was half-heartedly keeping watch.

"Level. Sixteen." Robin ground out, feeling himself getting angry. "But there are geno…"

Kid Flash tutted irritably. "He's doing it again."

_Doing _what_ again?!_

Aqualad silenced any further comment from Kid Flash with a look and then turned to Robin. "Can you show us?"

Robin huffed, wondering what the hell was going on but playing along anyway. He lifted the wrist computer and jabbed at the keyboard, pulling up the building's blueprints. His teammates studied the map briefly, and then turned to leave.

"Come on!" Kid Flash called as he sped off, leaving Aqualad to follow in his wake.

"Wait!" Robin yelled, but his team leader ignored him as he vanished from the room. "They've updated security, there are hundreds of genomorphs… why aren't you listening to me?! Gah!"

Robin ran after them, ignoring the odd burning sensation in his chest as he quickly ended up panting from exertion. He skidded on the linoleum floor as he rounded the corners too fast, all the corridors looking the same no matter which way he went. He was going far slower than he knew that he was capable, but for some reason he couldn't push himself to go any faster. He couldn't catch up.

By the time that he had reached the elevator, Aqualad was already inside and speeding downwards. Kid Flash had taken the stairs and was probably already nearing level sixteen. He had to catch up to them. He had to warn them. _Stop_ them.

He pried open the elevator doors, ignoring the complaints from practically every part of his body. _Why did he hurt so much? Was it the accident? _What_ accident?_ He looked down the shaft, watching the rapidly descending elevator car get further and further away. He took his grapple gun from his belt and fired it at the top of the structure, and then fearlessly jumped into the depths.

He was in free fall for a few moments before the line caught to slow his descent. The jolt that vibrated the entire length of the rope and down through his arm made him cry out in pain. His vision whited out from the sensory overload, and when it finally came back, he realised that he wasn't holding his grapple anymore.

He was falling.

Robin flashed back to that night in Haly's Circus, watching his family fall. He couldn't tell if he was hearing their screams, or if it was his own that tore unbidden from his throat. The drop seemed to go on for so much longer than just sixteen floors.

He landed on the elevator car with a jarring thud. The metal dented beneath him so that it curved around him in a hard embrace. He knew that he should be dead. _No one_ could have survived that fall. But for some reason, he was still breathing. He dragged himself onto his hands and knees, trying to figure out what was broken (because seriously, _something_ had to be) but his body had hurt so damn much anyway that he couldn't tell the difference.

With a short shake of his head, he decided to worry about it later and focus on saving his friends for now. He found the hatch in the roof of the car and climbed inside, grateful that he then only had to press a button to step out onto the sixteenth floor.

The corridor was made up of the red, gooey architecture that they had discovered as they had ventured deeper into Cadmus the last time. The pods that looked like teenage pimples had all been popped, spewing foul-smelling liquid onto the floor, their previous occupants long since freed. The sounds of a struggle came from further down, and Robin took off running towards them.

He found himself in a huge cavern like space that should not have been possible within the Cadmus facility. It was full of seemingly every variation of genomorph, from the hulking G-Trolls, to the shoulder limpet G-Gnomes. Sparks of electricity showered from the G-Sprites that were meant to purely be the facility's power source, and the dim red light reflected in the blade-like claws of the G-Elves.

Aqualad and Kid Flash were greatly outnumbered. The Atlantean had his water bearers drawn and was using them in whip form, slashing through as many of the genomorphs as possible. Kid Flash sped between them, getting in a lot of super-fast hits, but he never had been very good at running on slippery surfaces.

As Robin watched, Kid Flash lost his footing and went sliding into the centre of a horde of G-Elves. They were on him in an instant, but the speedster was just as quick. He was up and fighting back, but he couldn't break out of the circle surrounding him, stopping him from building up speed. Fresh rips and dark crimson marred the red and yellow of his uniform.

"Wally! Behind you!" Robin yelled.

But Kid Flash couldn't understand him. The G-Elf's claw tore right through the lightning bolt emblazoned on his chest, green eyes growing wide behind his goggles.

"NO!" Robin screamed. He ran the distance between himself and his best friend, skidding between the legs of a G-Troll. He dropped to his knees in the growing pool of blood and dragged Kid Flash onto his lap. He held him tight, rocking manically as the battle continued to rage on around them.

Eventually, Aqualad knelt in front of him and tried to take Kid Flash out of the Boy Wonder's arms. But Robin refused to co-operate, too lost in his own grief to realise the danger that they were in.

That was until a G-Elf cut Aqualad's head off.

* * *

"Master Bruce!" Alfred called urgently as the de-cowled Dark Knight stepped out of the batcave. He gave a questioning look to his butler as the grandfather clock slid closed behind him. "It is Master Richard, I cannot wake him!"

Bruce was immediately running towards his son's room with Alfred hot on his heels, the elder gentlemen pretty spry for his age. They sprinted the length of the corridor of the sleeping quarters before barrelling through the bedroom door that had been left open.

Locked in the horrors of a nightmare was Dick Grayson, his eyes squeezed tightly shut in pain and fear as he thrashed and groaned. Bruce was by his side in an instant, leaning over his son and trying to restrain him without hurting him any further. "Dick! Dick please! Wake up!"

Alfred came around to the other side of the bed to remove the IV before it was ripped out in the boy's struggles. Fresh blood stained the white bandages from the stiches that had been torn and the sling that had been keeping Dick's badly injured shoulder stable had been pulled free. If he continued to panic and flail as he was currently, all of the hard work would be completely undone.

"Dick! Dickie please!" Bruce called desperately. He let go of his son's arms as Dick screamed in agony, afraid that he was hurting him. He tried instead to lightly slap Dick's cheek, trying to break him free of whatever he was seeing. But it wasn't working. Dick was so lost in the visions his mind was feeding him that their attempts to wake him were futile.

Dick tried to roll onto his side and curl up, but he accidentally left his injured arm behind. The sudden movement ripped all of the delicate stitching, blood soaking through the bandage so fast that it was dark red in less than a minute. If they didn't wake him soon he could lose use of that arm permanently…

Bruce glanced around for something, _anything_ to wake up his son. His gaze settled on the glass of cold water that Alfred had provided within easy reach. The butler watched as Bruce reached for the glass, both of them prepared to catch the boy once the water had done its work. Taking a deep breath, Bruce tipped the glass's contents on to Dick's face.

The Boy Wonder shot up as if he had been blasted from a cannon.

Tears were streaming down his face as he gasped and panted, wild blue eyes darting around to try and ease his disorientation. Bruce wrapped Dick in as tight hug as he could without breaking anything, whispering random, soothing words until Dick finally calmed down.

By the time that Dick broke free from the embrace with an embarrassed smile, Alfred had already found a towel and brought it back for him. He dried off as best he could; trying to subtly scrub away the tears before either Bruce or Alfred could notice and comment. The images from the nightmare played out again and again in his mind's eye. He could still see Kaldur's stunned face as his head rolled a long way away from his shoulders. He could still feel Wally's blood, warm and sticky on his hands.

Bruce studied his son carefully, taking in his ghostly pale skin and shivering body. Alfred would need to redo a lot of his stitches, but Bruce decided that that could wait for a moment. They needed to talk first. "Alfred, can you give us a moment, please?"

"Of course, sir," the butler nodded, giving both of his charges an almost imperceptible cautious look before taking his leave and closing the door behind him.

Dick flinched as the door clicked closed, and then looked up at Bruce as if only just realising that they were alone. He parted his lips as if he were about to ask a question, but then frowned and sunk back against his pillows.

"I've given this a lot of thought," Bruce began tentatively. Dick watched him apprehensively, as if he already knew what was coming. "In light of recent events, I think that it's best if we retire Robin for a while."

"_Ce?" _Dick demanded, his voice rough from crying out in his sleep. Bruce glanced at the bloodied bandages that covered almost every inch of his son's body, but then quickly looked away. He couldn't identify the emotion that burned in his stomach and made his convictions waver, so he tried to ignore it, keeping his expression as neutral as possible. _"Dar…"_

"You can't be Robin anymore," Bruce reiterated, a little more forcefully, his gut clenching painfully as his words hit home. He so desperately wanted to leave, to get away from the betrayed expression that was etched into every bruise and stitch on Dick's face. "You said that you were having doubts about your abilities and your role on the team, and with the way things went, maybe you were right."

Dick physically flinched as if that sentence had been an actual punch to the gut. It had come out so wrong, but Bruce couldn't think of a way to back track without making things worse. _"__Asta nu a fost ceea ce am vrut să spun…"_

Bruce shook his head in frustration, wishing that he could understand his son. He just wanted to keep him safe. He never wanted to see Dick in so much pain again – to hear him _scream_ in agony like that. He knew that taking Robin away from him would hurt, but it was for the best.

"I'm sorry, Dickie," he murmured as he stood and headed for the door, leaving a shell shocked ex-Boy Wonder to stare at his retreating back.

It was for the best.

* * *

**Awww, poor Dick. The hits just keep on coming. And silly Bruce for his terrible timing… Both of them are going to end up needing Black Canary's therapy sessions once I'm done with them :D**

**Just a quick warning: Chapter six is likely to be late. I haven't even started it yet and I've got work the next few days. Hopefully I'll have it done and posted by Tuesday; Wednesday latest. And then this fic is officially finished :)**

**TRANSLATIONS: (Courtesy of Google Translate – Romanian)  
****Dar: **But  
**Ce: **What  
**Asta nu a fost ceea ce am vrut să spun: **That wasn't what I meant


	6. Insecurities

**Young Justice -:- Hooked**

**Author's Note(s):**

Sorry for the delay! My employer decided to finally give me the overtime I've been asking for, and then when I did have free time, this chapter decided to be all stubborn and not be written!

But I have managed to tame it, and in the process have discovered that I had more story to tell than I originally thought – so this is _not_ the final chapter that I promised, there is going to be an extra epilogue to make sure that everything is rounded off nicely :D (though it may be a while again as it has not been started yet or anything…)

Oh, and on a completely unrelated note – I just hit **100** reviews for _Identity_ and I am a _very_ happy bunny! Thank you so much to everyone who left a comment! :P

But anyway, enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter Six -:- Insecurities **

"That is significantly more than the light exercise that Miss Lance suggested, Master Richard," Alfred stated disapprovingly as he entered the manor's gymnasium. Dick pointedly ignored him as he continued swinging on the rings, pushing into a handstand and holding until his shoulder cried uncle. "I'd imagine that that is not expediting your recovery, sir."

"_Orice," Whatever._ Dick mumbled under his breath. He purposely turned a handstand into an inverted iron cross (like an upside down crucifix) despite the many protests of his still healing body. It had been two weeks since he had finally been allowed out of bed; nearly a month and a half since that night in the warehouse, and exactly one month to the day since Batman had retired Robin. He was not in the mood for a lecture. "_Nu contează oricum," It doesn't matter anyway._

Alfred cleared his throat. "English, Master Richard."

Dick rolled his eyes and released the hold, completing a full spin before somersaulting onto the mat. The landing was less than graceful though, and he ended up flat on his back, glaring up at the ceiling. Every muscle in his body ached from the exertion, and as he lay there he found himself panting harder than he should have been, but he couldn't bring himself to care.

He knew that Alfred was right. He shouldn't be pushing himself so hard, so soon. It wasn't doing him any good. But he couldn't help it. With the way things had been between him and Bruce recently, and without having anyone to really talk to… well, he just needed to work it off. He had always felt freer in the air, he could always think clearer. There were very few places where he could go to 'get away' when he was practically imprisoned in the manor.

"Perhaps you should talk about it," Alfred suggested as he offered Dick a towel. "Unless you wish to spend your foreseeable future back in bed?"

Dick wrinkled his nose at that suggestion. He'd spent so much time horizontal of late that he figured he'd be happy if he never saw a bed again. He took the towel with a grateful smile and climbed back to his feet. "Talking's… hard."

"Well, it is not going to get any less so unless you practice," the butler pointed out. He returned to the tray that he had bought in with him and set about pouring some tea and doling out the medication that Dick was supposed to be taking. "What is troubling you, sir?"

"_Nimic," Nothing_. Dick grumbled as he dropped onto the bench. Alfred just raised an eyebrow at him. "You'll just tell Bruce."

"I assure you that I will do no such thing," Alfred replied, sounding a little insulted by the suggestion. "Though perhaps _you_ should talk to him."

"He doesn't _asculta._" Dick scoffed. And then he realised that he had slipped up again and growled at himself in frustration. He was getting better – he could almost hold a complete conversation now, but it was still his first instinct to respond in Romani. He had to consciously construct every sentence in his head before he opened his mouth or it would just end up a jumbled mess. "_Listen._ He doesn't _listen_, I meant."

Alfred sighed. The butler had known Bruce Wayne long enough to know exactly what Dick was talking about. "He can be rather… obtuse, at times."

"_Afirmaţie modestă," Understatement._ Dick took the proffered tea cup and stared at the milky liquid. Alfred had been trying for weeks to get Dick to talk to him, and every attempt would begin with a cup of tea, the Englishman seeming to believe that the beverage could solve everything. But Dick didn't _want_ to talk, at least not to Bruce or Alfred. He wanted to talk to his friends – to actually see them and know that they'd be there for him. To have that same reassurance that came with knowing that they had his back when on missions.

He wanted to be Robin again. Not this half-person that didn't even know which way was up anymore.

"He truly does care for you, sir," Alfred said reassuringly, taking a seat himself so that he felt less like a butler and more like a confidant. He had poured himself a cup of tea as well, almost completely bridging the 'master' and 'charge' divide. "I am certain that he honestly believes that this is the best choice for you."

"Retiring Robin?" Dick shrugged. "I know."

Alfred blinked. "Sir?"

"Bruce was right to retire Robin," Dick elaborated with a despondent sigh. "I'm not exactly fit for duty, am I? And even if I was… it's not like… it's not like I was actually making a difference. I was thinking about quitting the team anyway. This just makes it official, right? No more screwing up for this _simplu muritor." Mere human._

Dick's self-esteem was a little low at the moment.

Alfred studied him in concern, making Dick roll his eyes again and slump even further into his seat. "So you do not disagree with the decision?"

"No."

"However…?" Alfred questioned leadingly.

"It was the way he did it, Alfie," Dick muttered around his tea cup, making Alfred give him an inquisitive look. "_Serios," Seriously, _"Could he have timed it any worse? He picked the moment when I was down and hurting and might I add – _bleeding out_. I couldn't even talk or argue back! He just dropped it on me and expected me to be okay? _De ce nu ar fi putut aștepta?" Why couldn't he wait?_

Alfred opened his mouth to respond, but didn't get a chance.

"He was expecting a fight," Dick continued, dropping his half-drunk tea back on the tray carelessly as he climbed to his feet. "So he waited until I couldn't give him one."

"I am sure that was not his intention…" Alfred tried.

"No, Alfie, you _know_ what he's like," Dick interrupted. "He always plans _everything_. He's always twenty steps ahead of everyone else. He knew exactly what he was doing when he picked _that moment_ to side-line me. _Știa__cât de mult ar__durea…" He knew how much it would hurt…_

"Master Richard…" the butler called after Dick's retreating back, but the teenager ignored him. Alfred was left alone in the manor's gym, wondering how he could possibly make this right. "Oh, Master Bruce. If only you realised _all_ the consequences of your actions…"

* * *

The neon lights of the city cast the high rise office in hues of green and yellow, creating psychedelic patterns across the crime boss's face. The charcoal grey skull-like features twisted into a smile as the Black Mask surveyed his growing kingdom.

"Sir," Ms Li, his assistant, called from the shadows. "Mr Cobblepot is requesting an audience with you."

The Black Mask smirked, "Of course he is. Tell him I'm busy claiming his territory."

"I assumed, sir," Ms Li replied dryly. A loud thump sounded from the hallway, but they both decided to ignore it. "And what should I tell the horde of his men waiting in the lobby?"

A muffled cry cut off suddenly, but Black Mask only paid the door a cursory glance. "Offer them a job. If they refuse, shoot them," he ordered off-handedly.

The door rattled in its hinges as if someone had just walked into it.

"What are those fools doing out there?" the Black Mask demanded. He was answered by the door slamming open and two of his bodyguards flying through. They landed on the ground, groaning and clutching at various body parts in pain. Immediately Black Mask had a revolver in his hand and aimed at the open doorframe. "Who's there?! Show yourself!"

A shadow flickered in the corner of the room. Freaked, Black Mask fired off a few rounds, but was rewarded with nothing more than smoking dents in his wall and ringing in his ears.

"Do you have any idea who you're dealing with?!" the Black Mask yelled threateningly, shooting at more shadows until the chamber clicked empty.

"Yes. I do."

Black Mask spun around so fast that he tripped and fell back against his desk, the imposing figure of the Batman towering over him. The crime boss attempted to regain his composure, but it was very hard to do while in the presence of the bat. He hit the panic button on the underside of his desk several times, but no one came.

"I have taken care of all of your men," Batman informed him. "Some of them may be needing the hospital. Does your organisation have a health plan?"

The Black Mask scrabbled around to the other side of his desk, trying to put something solid between them. He glanced at the door and the slim chance of escape, but somehow he knew that even if he tried – Batman would be quicker.

"Should I call the exterminator, sir?" Ms Li asked in her monotone drawl, seeming to be completely unperturbed by the city's resident saviour's appearance. "We appear to have a vermin problem."

The Dark Knight turned his glare onto the assistant.

"No need, Ms Li," the Black Mask replied. "Perhaps you should go take a coffee break. I will be seeing to our… guest."

"Yes, sir," Ms Li nodded and vanished from the room, leaving the crime boss and the vigilante to glare at each other in silence.

"Y-y-you…" The Black Mask cleared his throat, trying to reclaim some of his dignity. "You can't touch me. You've got no evidence that I've done anything – and even if you did, you and I both know that there isn't a D.A. in this city that will touch my prosecution. You can take me to the cops. You can put me in a cell at Blackgate or Belle Reve, but you know I won't be in there five minutes before I walk free. So unless you're here to talk business, I suggest that you don't bother wasting either of our time."

Batman considered Black Mask's argument, letting the seconds drag by and increasing the tension in the room.

"You can't hurt me either. You won't kill me. You're too good for that. You won't get your hands dirty. You can't touch me. I own the judges, and the juries and the cops," Black Mask continued, trying to drive his point home and unable to stop his runner mouth. "I own Gotham. You. Can't. Touch. Me."

Another beat of silence.

"You're right." Batman conceded, making the Black Mask blink in surprise. "But there are other ways to hurt you."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" the Black Mask asked, his voice rising an octave without his permission.

The Batman just smirked. "You have a cargo ship on its way to England carrying weapons and munitions as payment for arranging Springheeled Jack's transfer to Arkham. Correction; you _did._ It was just sunk. That could be difficult to explain to the local crime boss."

"Wh-what?"

"Oh, and that delivery of high-end drugs you were expecting this evening?" the Batman continued. "It won't be making it to the docks tonight, it seems that the Coast Guard have quarantined it and confiscated all of its cargo. What a shame."

"Wh-Why are you doing this…?" Black Mask asked, already totting up the massive loss that this was going to cost him. How the hell had he managed to piss off the bat?

The Batman glared at him. "You have heard the rumours."

_Oh._ "The Joker killed your sidekick."

"And how did he manage that one while he was securely locked up in Arkham, I wonder?" Batman hinted about as subtly as a sledgehammer. The Black Mask gulped audibly. "You wanted to make a move on the Penguin's territory, so you arranged a little distraction. You opened the gates at Arkham. You handed Robin over to the Joker. And you will pay."

The Black Mask backed up. "That wasn't the plan! I didn't tell him to kill the kid!"

"I may not be able to put you behind bars," Batman ignored him. "But I can make it _very _difficult for you to do business. Shipments will go missing. Bribes won't make it to the right people. How long will you be able to hold your new territory while I hold all your assets in a vice?"

"Y-you can't!" Black Mask stuttered. "It wasn't me! I didn't touch the kid!"

But the Black Mask was just yelling at an empty room.

* * *

The screams echoed around the manor's grand halls, immediately pulling Bruce away from the paperwork that he was in the process of ignoring. He climbed to his feet and hurried straight to Dick's room, knowing that his son was caught in another nightmare. Once he got through the bedroom door, he was greeted by the sight that had become disturbingly familiar over the past few weeks.

Dick was tangled in his covers, half of the blankets thrown on the floor as he had writhed and thrashed. His screams had died down to incoherent mumbles, but his face was still twisted in pain as he was trapped in his fears.

Bruce came to perch on the edge of the bed and lightly shook Dick's shoulders, trying to wake him a little more gently than he had had to that first night. "Come on, wake up Dickie…"

Gradually, hazy blue eyes opened; his lashes sticky from the half dried tears. Dick blinked up at Bruce, trying to orientate himself as he shook of the last vestiges of the dream. He was just scrubbing at his eyes and sitting up as Alfred appeared at the doorway. "Master Richard?"

"I'm alright," Dick replied shortly as he backed up as far as could against the head board. Bruce reached out to tame the bed head his son was sporting, but Dick flinched away and stared at the bed covers. "I said I'm alright!"

Bruce pulled away and glanced back at Alfred. But the butler said nothing, vanishing from the door frame and closing the door behind him.

"Dick, what's wrong?" Bruce asked.

The teenager just gave him a look as if to say; _I can't believe that you just asked me that._ He pressed further back against the head board, his thin frame practically disappearing in to the pillows. "Nothing."

Bruce sighed. He really wasn't very good at this. "You can talk to me, Dickie."

Dick scoffed. "Yeah, right."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Bruce asked, genuinely perplexed. He was well aware that he wasn't the most approachable person, but he had always thought that he had been okay at listening whenever Dick needed to talk. Apparently not.

"Nothing," Dick denied again. Bruce watched him silently for a moment, noticing that his son was using his training as Robin to plot the best exits from the room. He didn't seem able to find a viable one though, as he just sighed impatiently and scowled at the curtains as if imagining jumping out the window in a desperate attempt to escape.

"Is this because I retired Robin?" Bruce asked, eliciting a slight flinch from the teenager. "You have to understand why I did that… You, you were seriously hurt – you _still_ are. And with the doubts you admitted to having… I _can't_ put you in the field like that. You _know_ that. I get that being Robin was important to you, but you're a smart kid, Dick. It was the logical choice."

Dick dragged his eyes away from the window and glared at Bruce with one eyebrow raised. "Wow. For the World's Greatest Detective you sure can miss the damn obvious."

Bruce blinked in shock, not used to hearing the bitterness in his son's tone. It just wasn't Dick. "Why are you acting like this?"

Dick just rolled his eyes, seeming to expect Bruce to know the answer. He was being uncooperative and sullen – nothing like the bright teenager that had a quip for everything. For a frightening moment, Bruce thought that the head trauma might have incurred more side effects than they realised, but then he decided that the weird behaviour from his son was part of that teenage rebellion he was always being warned about. And Bruce was not going to stand for that.

"I know that you've been through a lot, which is the _only_ reason why I am not grounding you for life for your attitude," Bruce said lowly, knowing that shouting was ineffective. Dick rolled his eyes again, recognising the tactic. "But this immaturity has got to stop. Maybe we can talk properly when you are acting like an adult instead of a stroppy child."

And with that, Bruce stood and left the room, slamming the door behind him. He just didn't understand what the problem was. It made sense to retire Robin, he was right about risks of letting Dick wear the cape and mask while he was injured and in the wrong headspace. So why in the hell was Dick treating him like the bad guy? Didn't he understand that Bruce just wanted to keep him safe?

Bruce took a deep breath to get his temper and frustration back under control, and when that didn't work, decided that he needed to work it off. He headed straight for the manor's gym and the punching bag that would soon be getting a thorough beating.

He wasn't expecting to find Alfred waiting for him.

The butler watched him from a distance as he so often did; silently waiting for Bruce to start the conversation and ask the questions that he just couldn't fathom the answers to alone. But Bruce was feeling stubborn, so he let the silence drag as he lost his shirt and strapped up his hands. He was well into his first round of pummelling before he finally broke – Alfred was the _only_ person who could outlast his patience. "How did you know that I would come here?"

"I knew that one of you would," Alfred replied, still half-encased in the shadows he lurked in. "You are both rather similar. Whenever you are upset, you take it in turns to either brood or exercise."

"So I guess Dick's brooding then," Bruce said over the pounding of his fists. "Why?"

Alfred pursed his lips, taking his time to think over his response. "I suppose that the fact that you do not know the answer is what is compounding the problem."

"Then why doesn't someone enlighten me?" Bruce snapped, hitting the bag hard enough to jolt chain. "This whole silent treatment and sarcasm thing isn't exactly helping me understand."

"He is a teenager, sir," Alfred explained. "That is how they communicate."

Bruce scoffed. "I was a teenager once. I did not behave like that!"

"No, sir," Alfred agreed. "You were worse."

Bruce didn't quite remember it that way, but he chose not to comment. He just kept beating on the bag, wondering when the frustration was going to go away. He was usually feeling better by now. For some reason though, violent therapy was not working. "He won't talk to me, Alfred. Has he spoken to you?"

"In confidence," the butler admitted.

"So you know what the problem is, but won't tell me," Bruce determined with an eye roll of his own. "How the hell am I supposed to know how to fix this if no one will even tell me what is wrong? You can't tell me, Dick won't talk to me…"

"You wouldn't let him, sir," Alfred interrupted the tirade shortly, and then realised that he had spoken out of turn. "My apologies, Master Bruce."

Bruce stopped assaulting the gym equipment to study the one person who had been constant his entire life. "What do you mean 'I wouldn't let him'? I asked him what was wrong, he refused to answer. How is that not letting him talk?"

Alfred hesitated, clearly not wanting to betray Dick's trust. "That… that is not the occasion to which I was referring…"

"Then when?" Bruce demanded. But then it clicked. "When I told him that he couldn't be Robin, he _couldn't_ talk. That's why…?"

"Your timing was less than perfect, sir," Alfred confirmed.

Bruce sighed, thinking back on that moment and knowing that it hadn't exactly gone as planned. He had been intending to wait a little while, and actually talk with Dick about the decision, but when he had seen his son in that fragile state… he had jumped the gun. He wanted Dick away from even the possibility of the front lines as soon as possible. And if that meant telling him the verdict when the conversation was ever-so-slightly one-sided… so be it.

"It wouldn't have changed my choice," Bruce insisted, "even if he could have argued his corner. Retiring Robin was the right thing to do –with his injuries and his doubts…"

"So you knew that the boy was feeling insecure, and yet still chose to hit him while he was down, sir?" Alfred asked incredulously, more brashly than he would usually argue. "I believe that your exact words were that he was 'having doubts about his abilities, and with the way things went, maybe he was right.'"

"Were you listening, Alfred?" Bruce asked accusingly.

"These walls are very thin, sir," Alfred replied curtly.

Bruce glared at the butler for a moment, but then just shook his head, unable to get mad at him when he knew that Alfred was right. "I could have handled it better," he admitted. "I shouldn't have said that, I know."

"Then perhaps you should tell Master Richard that," Alfred suggested. "And apologise as well."

"And then he'll talk to me?" Bruce asked.

"Perhaps," Alfred replied. "He is still a teenager, after all."

* * *

**Yay! I finally finished this chapter! Only one more to go now (officially this time) and **_**then**_** this fic is finished :P**

**On a side-note; the reason that this was chapter was so hard to write was because plot bunnies were trying to kidnap me. I've got this idea for a Hunger Games/Jurassic Park (**_**no**_** idea where that bit came from…) fic starring Dick and Artemis as our tributes in a galactic scale version of the games. I'm pretty sure that that kind of scenario has been explored on fanfic before – but would anyone be interested if I had a go?**

**My next project is the **_**Identity**_** sequel that will be called **_**Fragility**_**, but I was thinking of maybe doing a one-shot collection of scenes from the Hunger Games rip-off on an as and when basis…?**

**See you for the finale!**


	7. Questions

**Young Justice -:- Hooked**

**Author's Note(s):**

I know that it's the final chapter, but I've finally decided on the setting of this fic within the canon timeline – The fic starts right at the end of **Schooled**, meaning that Robin hasn't actually met Artemis as she is introduced in **Infiltrator** which takes place while he was recovering, along with **Denial**. This chapter starts at the beginning of **Downtime**, and refers to events in the comic (Training Day) that are adjusted so that Artemis joined the team in facing Clayface instead of Robin.

According to the time stamps that means this fic happened between August 5th and August 27th, but that's not exactly a viable recovery time, so I'm stretching the timeline so that there is two months between **Schooled** and **Downtime.** Just in case anyone was wondering lol.

Anyway, super thanks to my wonderful, awesome, magnificent reviewers! Enjoy this final slice of story goodness – this time with an extra helping of the team (for real this time) and some bonus Dick/Wally brotherly bonding!

* * *

**Chapter Seven -:- Questions**

Batman glared at the costumed teenagers assembled before him, internally smirking as they tried very hard not to squirm. Superboy seemed largely immune, but Miss Martian and Kid Flash were both trying in vain to look at anything other than the Dark Knight. The new girl, Artemis, was doing her best to glare back at him, but Batman noticed the nervous shuffle of her feet and the twitch of her left eye.

Finally, Batman settled his gaze on Aqualad who, to his credit, barely flinched. "Report."

"It was my fault," Aqualad admitted immediately. "It was my decision to split up the team, despite your orders to stick together when confronting Clayface. I believed that it would have expedited things by covering more ground, but I underestimated Clayface's shape shifting abilities."

That was a slight understatement, Batman lamented silently, allowing his glare to do the talking. After Clayface had been delivered to the Wayne Foundation, courtesy of the Al Ghuls', Batman had taken a sample to study to find a way of taking down the creature. All the team had to do was track it until he had a solution. By the time he had arrived however, the whole team was down. A few minutes later and there may not have been a team left at all…

"I take full responsibility," Aqualad added, when Batman didn't immediately reply. They were both well aware of what was distracting the normally clear-headed Atlantean, but now was not the time to discuss it.

Batman gave Aqualad a look that said _'we'll talk about this later'_, and then returned his attention to the whole team. "Dismissed."

Miss Martian was instantly in the air and flying off as if she couldn't get away fast enough, followed swiftly by the others. Kid Flash, however, seemed to be dragging his feet – unusual for a speedster, to say the least. He had only just reached the door as Black Canary stepped up beside Batman and threw him a sideways look. "Inviting the team to Gotham was a bold move."

"Necessary," Batman replied shortly, waiting for the door to close behind the retreating teens.

"Because you did not have your usual back-up?" Black Canary asked leadingly. Batman turned his glare on her, but the leather clad blonde easily ignored him. "Perhaps if Robin was with the team he could have kept them on task while Aqualad is… distracted."

Batman pointedly glanced at the door, warning his fellow Leaguer of the high possibility of eavesdropping Kryptonian ears. Black Canary nodded in acknowledgement, but didn't change the subject. "When can we expect him back? The team are beginning to ask questions – Kid Flash in particular."

Batman didn't reply, instead purposely turning away and activating the holo-computer as a distraction. He could feel Black Canary studying him curiously, reading the answer in his body language and silence. Sometimes he really hated having a shrink for a teammate.

"You didn't," she gasped suddenly, closing the distance between them so that she could study what was visible of his face behind the cowl. Her voice dropped to a barely audible whisper. "You _did, _didn't you? You fired him!"

That phrasing was a little harsh, as far as Batman was concerned. Robin had simply gone into early retirement. For some reason, that sounded better. "It's for the best," he repeated for the millionth time, like a mantra. Perhaps if he said it often enough, he could convince everyone else that it was true.

"Are you _sure_ about that?" Black Canary asked. Not many people were bold enough to question the Bat, but when they did, it usually meant that they felt strongly enough about the issue to risk his wrath. Batman met her stern blue eyes, genuinely curious as to why she disagreed. "You must know that even before the… before the incident… that he was feeling insecure about his role on the team. By taking Robin away from him all you've done is _confirm_ his doubts!"

"That is not why I did it," Batman replied. "I did it to protect him. To keep anything like that from ever happening again."

"Does _he _know that?" Black Canary questioned.

"I explained my reasoning to him."

"Yes, but did he _believe_ you?" Black Canary let the question hang for a moment, allowing Batman to work through the possible consequences. If Dick truly believed that Batman had retired him as Robin because he was inadequate, it could explain why he had been acting so down of late. He was already feeling helpless due to his injuries – add the fact that he wasn't good enough to be Robin on top, and it was no wonder that the boy was depressed.

If that was, in fact, what had happened. Bruce had apologised, somewhat awkwardly, for his poor timing for breaking the news, but it had done very little to mend the fences of their relationship. If there was a more deep seated issue behind Dick's reluctance to talk to him…

"He did believe me," Batman insisted. "He even agreed with the decision."

Black Canary pursed her lips, concern etched into her features. "He agreed with you? That firing Robin was a good thing?"

Batman nodded. Why did that fact seem to worry her so much? It just proved that Dick was being pragmatic. He had been severely injured, and had been having doubts about his role anyway, it made _sense_ to pull him out of the life before anything worse could happen.

Didn't it?

"You need to talk to him," Black Canary suggested forcefully. "I mean _really_ talk to him. And _listen_ to what he has to say. Firing Robin is what's best for _you_ – it gives you peace of mind knowing that he's home safe. But what is _really_ best for Robin?"

Black Canary held his gaze for a moment, making sure that that question really sunk in, before she headed for the zeta tubes and vanished in a flash of light. Batman stood there for a moment, considering the possibilities.

What _was_ best for Robin?

* * *

Dick stared at the cell phone in his hand, internally debating with himself.

He had only just found the device, having been purposely ignoring it while he recovered and, admittedly, moped around. He hadn't wanted to know about the outside world, or deal with the questions that people from both sides of his life would inevitably ask. Barbara would want to know why he wasn't returning her calls (Alfred had told her that Dick had a severe case of the flu). Wally would demand to know why Robin wasn't at the cave

(And that was a question he _really _didn't want to answer).

But maybe he had put it off for too long. He needed someone to talk to, he really did – maybe it would help him to figure out what it was that he actually wanted. But Bruce would probably be mad if Dick broke protocol and rang Wally – especially as now he wasn't technically Robin anymore. If he called Babs, he couldn't really explain without revealing his old secret ID…

_Oh, screw it. _Dick thought to himself as he turned on the phone. He loved Alfred to pieces, but he needed someone his own age to talk to, someone who could understand what it was like to have another life.

As the phone bleeped into consciousness, dozens of notifications popped up (almost crashing the smart phone…) informing Dick that he had missed over a hundred calls the past two months, most of them from Wally, along with a landslide of text messages that he had ignored in his inbox. Dick cringed, feeling guilty about leaving his friends out of the loop and worrying about him – he'd have to take Wally out for an all-you-can-eat buffet as recompense.

You know, if he was ever allowed to see Wally again.

Dick pushed that horrifying thought to the back of his mind and hit the speed dial. It didn't even get to the end of the first ring before Wally picked up.

"_Where the hell have you been!?"_ was the immediate greeting. Dick flinched away from the phone at the volume, but had to admit that it was good to hear Wally's voice – even if it was several decibels too loud. _"Are you alright? Why haven't you been returning my calls? Are you grounded? When are you coming back? What happened? When…?"_

"Er, KF," Dick interrupted. "You kind of have to stop asking questions if you want me to answer them."

"_Oh, right. Sorry," _Wally apologised. _"Let's start with 'Where the hell have you been?'"_

"Home," Dick replied succinctly.

"_Are you alright?"_

"Relatively."

"_Why haven't you been returning my calls?"_

"Bad reception in the cave."

"_Are you grounded?"_

"Pretty much."

"_When are you coming back?"_

"I'll get back to you on that one."

"_Those weren't very good answers," _Wally complained morosely. Though he was kind of used to Robin being vague, especially with the whole secret ID thing. _"This last one you've got to answer properly, alright? What happened?"_

Dick sighed, trying to figure out what he could actually say without giving too much away. Not for the first time, he wished that he could just tell Wally everything. He was his best friend after all – if he couldn't trust Wally, who could he trust? "A mission went south. _Way_ south. I've kind of been out of commission for a while."

"_Are you alright?"_ Wally asked again, his worry evident in his tone. Judging by the sounds in the background, he was making sandwiches – lots of them. Wally tended to eat when he was anxious. Speedster metabolism. _"I want a truthful answer this time."_

A truthful answer. Wow, that was hard. "Um… I'm fine," Dick hesitated. It wasn't a complete lie – he was a heck of a lot better than he had been. Most of the bandages were gone now (though his shoulder was still meant to be in a sling) and physically, he was pretty much healed. "A few cuts and bruises, a few cracked ribs…" _a broken femur (among other bones), ruptured spleen, pulmonary contusion, severe head trauma… _"Oh, and I dislocated a couple of fingers."

"_Right…" _Wally did not sound convinced. He knew Robin well enough to know that the minor injuries that he had described would not have kept him away for two months. _"When are you coming back?"_

"I'm… not." Dick decided to answer truthfully.

Wally choked on his sandwich. _"What?!"_

Dick winced, and quickly decided that maybe he wasn't really ready to talk about that huge issue just yet. "So, how's the team? Been on any cool missions lately?"

"_Are you trying to change the subject?"_ Wally asked accusingly.

"Would I?"

Wally harrumphed loudly. _"Fine, but you're not off the hook."_

That was a poor choice of words.

"_We were in Gotham the other day," _Wally began, and Dick inwardly sighed in relief, thankful that his best friend didn't decide to push the issue. _"Batman told us to track Clayface, who naturally decided that the sewers would be a good place to hang out – the girls are still complaining about the smell being on them. We got our butts handed to us, but then Batman showed up and tasered the thing and all was right with the world."_

"Sounds about right," Dick muttered bitterly. "How's the new girl?"

"_Artemis?"_Wally asked. _"She's a pain in the ass. Roy came to the cave the day she got introduced and it was totally awkward and now he really won't ever join the team which sucks majorly. She's always arguing with me and flirting with Supey, and she gave me orders even though she's like less than a rookie and I'm pretty sure that she let Cheshire get away… Oh, and she totally ruined my chances with M'gann and well… she's a pain in the ass." _

"So, you like her then?"

"_What? No! What part of that whole spiel about her terribleness gives you the insane idea that I like her? Really?" _Wally immediately leapt on the defensive, unintentionally confirming Dick's suspicions, making the younger teen grin broadly. _"But anyway, why don't we go back to that huge thing that you're avoiding?"_

The grin vanished from Dick's face.

"_What do you mean, you're not coming back?"_ Wally pressed. _"Are you quitting the team?"_

"Erm… it's a little bigger than that…" Dick sighed heavily. He guessed that it was just time to bite the bullet and admit it already. "I'm not Robin anymore."

"_Huh?"_ Wally asked, clearly confused. _"Who are you then?"_

Good question.

"I…" Dick started, and then bit his tongue. Even if he wasn't Robin, he still couldn't just go blabbing his real name because then it could compromise Bruce's ID as well. So what? Was he just supposed to come up with a fake name if he ever wanted to talk to the team again? Was he just going to swap Robin for a new civilian ID? Or was that part of his life completely over now?

Was this the last time he would ever get to speak to his best friend?

"I have no idea."

There came a silence over the line as Wally mulled things over. _"Okay, let's back up a second. What happened that was so bad that you can't be Robin anymore?"_

Well, that was a long story. Dick decided to go with the cliff notes version. "Arkham breakout. Run in with the Joker. Two days later I'm in critical condition. I woke up; Bats gave me my pink slip."

Another pause. Wally was putting the pieces together and realising that they didn't fit. He may not have a clue when he's falling for a girl, but he was damn good at knowing when Dick was avoiding something. And he was even better at wheedling it out of the ex-Boy Wonder. _"I don't mean to sound callous, but you've been hurt before. What's so different about this time that would make Batman fire you?"_

"It was really bad, Wally," Dick begrudgingly admitted, and then chewed his lip. Wally waited patiently for him to get to the point, the sound of his munching on sandwiches the only thing that could be heard. "And… and I may have been…" Dick sighed in frustration. "I was wondering what the hell I was doing on a team of metahumans when I'm so…"

"_Human?"_

"Yeah," Dick agreed. "I know it sounds stupid, but we were going against all these bad guys that Supey could pummel and you could run rings around and I… I couldn't even make a dent. Even when I got a chance to play leader I totally sucked. I couldn't do anything that you guys couldn't do better."

"_You hacked the motion sensors."_

Dick smirked sardonically. "Yeah. A computer nerd on a team of superheroes. Impressive."

"_You were going to quit the team," _Wally summarised.

"I was thinking about it."

It was Wally's turn to sigh heavily, and Dick could practically hear the eye roll over the phone. _"Well, you're officially an idiot if you honestly think that we don't need you. I've lost count of the amount of times you saved my butt since even before the team, so I know you're awesome. I'm not even going to bother telling you all about your mad ninja skills or the whole knower-of-all thing you've got going on."_

"Erm… thanks?"

"_Don't mention it," _Wally shrugged. _"But ask yourself this; if the whole joker thing hadn't happened, and you'd just quit the team – would you have stopped being Robin?"_

"No," Dick answered immediately, surprised by how certain he sounded.

"_Why?"_

"Because… because I love being Robin," Dick realised. "It's who I am. I've been doing this for four years – I wouldn't quit just because I can't keep pace with metas. I've been beating up Gotham bad guys since I was nine – I know I can do it."

"_Then why are you letting Batman fire you?"_

And wasn't _that_ the million dollar question?

* * *

"Are you done, sir?"

Bruce looked up from his paperwork to find Alfred waiting for him expectantly. He hadn't even heard the butler enter, which would have been odd if it was anyone other than Alfred – the one person who could possibly sneak up on the Batman. They were in his office in the west wing of the manor, the autumn sun streaming through the window and casting everything in orange as it set. "I'm sorry?"

"You dinner, sir," Alfred gestured at the tray that he had dropped off over an hour ago, the half-eaten plate of food now well and truly cold. It had been a long time since Bruce had taken dinner at the table, now preferring to dine as he worked. Alfred clearly disapproved. "Are you finished?"

"Uh, yes," Bruce nodded, leaning back so that Alfred could collect up the tray. "Thanks."

The butler was halfway to the door before he paused and glanced back at his charge. Bruce waited as Alfred hesitated for a moment, and then decided it was best to simply speak his mind. "Perhaps avoiding Master Richard is not the best strategy, sir."

Bruce raised his eyebrows, surprised by the bluntness of the usually subtle elder gentleman. "I'm not avoiding him."

"My apologies, Master Bruce," Alfred bowed his head, and then met the younger man's blue eyes. "But you are. I have scarcely seen you outside of this office or the cave these past few days, and I know that Master Richard has seen even less of you. You take all of your meals alone and only walk the halls when no one else is about."

"I've been busy," Bruce retorted. "With _work_. You always tell me that I pay more attention to my night time activities than my day job."

"And yet you only pay due diligence to the Wayne Foundation when you are avoiding other factors," Alfred pointed out, and then cleared his throat. "Sir."

"Has Dick told you something?" Bruce asked, wondering why Alfred was being so forward. He knew that the butler was not comfortable with the way that things had settled between him and Dick since he had made the decision, but was there something more behind this?

"He has not needed to, sir," Alfred replied. "I have simply observed Master Richard's behaviour of late, which you have been unable to do as you have been otherwise occupied with… _work_."

Bruce sighed heavily. So maybe he _had_ been avoiding Dick the past few days, ever since Dinah had suggested that he might have been selfish to retire Robin (which was a ridiculous notion… surely…). He wasn't very good at _talking_ to people, and if recent experience was anything to go by, Bruce had a tendency to simply make things worse by attempting conversation. But Alfred was observant, and usually right. If there was something wrong with Dick, Alfred would have noticed. "What have I missed?"

"He has been increasingly downhearted as of late," Alfred explained. "Even though he has recovered well physically, emotionally I fear he is still struggling."

"He's been through a lot."

Alfred nodded. "Indeed. However, we both know that Master Richard is not one to dwell on unfortunate events. It is not the trauma that is keeping him down, sir."

Bruce knew exactly where this conversation was going, but had never expected it to be instigated by the butler. "You disagree with my decision to retire Robin."

"I do, sir."

Bruce shook his head. "Why? When I first recruited him you were the loudest protestor. Why do you now think that putting him in danger is such a good idea?"

"It is true that I disagreed with your enlistment of Robin into your crusade," Alfred conceded, still sounding a little bitter that he had been ignored all those years ago. "But that was then, before Master Richard had assumed the identity for four years. You do not seem to realise that Robin is not just a name and a costume for the boy. It is a part of who he is – and you have taken that away. He is literally half the person he once was, and has no way to fill the void."

A light knock sounded from the door, the subject of the conversation poking his head through the gap. "Sorry, am I interrupting?"

"Not at all, young sir," Alfred replied politely, toting the tray once more. As he passed Dick on his way out he dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "I believe that I have softened him up sufficiently for you, sir."

Dick let out a small laugh. "Thanks Alfie."

And then the door clicked shut behind the butler, leaving father and son alone in the office. Bruce studied Dick, noting the dark circles under his eyes from lack of sleep, and the distinct absence of the sling that he was _meant_ to be wearing. He was fidgeting as well, an old habit from when he was a hyperactive circus child that had been long since disciplined out of him. His inability to keep still was a clear indicator that he was nervous.

Nervous about what though?

"So…" Dick began awkwardly. "We kinda need to talk…"

"Alfred gave me that impression," Bruce retorted, sounding a little shorter than he had intended. This conversation was already off to a flying start. "I mean, yes, we do."

"Right," said Dick. He realised that he was tapping his fingers against his jeans and purposely shoved his hands deep into his pockets. "So…" he trailed off.

"How are you feeling?" Bruce asked to fill the silence.

Dick shrugged, barely wincing as the gesture pulled at his tender shoulder. "I'm alright, I guess. Just a little… sore."

That was not what he was going to say. Bruce resisted the urge to sigh, not wanting to appear impatient. "Alfred said that you had been feeling down lately. Do you want to talk about it?"

Dick pulled a face, as if that was the last thing he wanted to do. And then he took a deep breath. "Okay, I'm just going to get to the point," Dick decided, talking more to himself than to Bruce. "I don't care that you retired Robin."

Now, Bruce had _not_ been expecting that. "Good."

Dick shook his head. "I don't care that you retired Robin, because it's not going to stop me anyway," he said defiantly, making Bruce inwardly flinch. "Do you remember why you gave me the mask in the first place?"

Bruce did. Two months after his parents' death, Dick had run away from the boy's home that he had been assigned to and gone on the streets. He had started by hunting down any connection to Tony Zucco, but it had quickly become more than that. The kid was running around in a hoodie stopping muggings and thwarting crooks long before the concept of being a sidekick had ever been introduced to him. Batman had run into the boy vigilante and tried to persuade him off of the streets. But there was just no stopping Dick.

So Bruce had offered him the training and the mask for one simple reason. "To protect you."

"And yet you site that exact same reason for taking Robin away from me," Dick retorted. "Don't you think that's ironic?"

Bruce didn't answer. He had a horrible feeling that he knew exactly where this was going, and he really didn't like it. Trust Dick to be the one person to find a loophole in his infallible logic.

"I guess it's up to you what happens next," Dick shrugged, the slight glint in his eye telling Bruce that he already knew that he had won. "I get that you don't want me to be Robin anymore – that's fine. I also understand that if I wanted to strike out on my own, you would do everything in your power to stop me – that's fine too. I can leave. I've done it on my own before, and I was nine then and completely untrained."

Bruce stared at his son, silently hoping that he could get him to back down. He couldn't believe that he was practically being blackmailed. He could either reinstate Robin and be able to keep a watchful eye over Dick, or he could lose all control as his protégé went solo without his support.

Neither option particularly appealed.

"So…" Dick muttered after a good five minutes had passed. He was starting to look unsure, but Bruce knew just how stubborn his son was. He would follow through on the threat. "Am I packing my bags?"

Bruce kept silent for another minute. "Are you still having doubts about your abilities and your role on the team?"

"Honestly? Yes," Dick answered. "But I want the chance to prove to myself that it's just teenaged angst. I know that I'm good at what I do. I just need to be better."

That was a damn good answer. "Fine," Bruce relented. "I will talk to Black Canary. If you pass both a physical _and_ a psych evaluation, Robin can attend the training session at the cave next weekend. Deal?"

Dick grinned like a kid on Christmas. "Deal."

**FIN**

* * *

**Et voila! This fic is officially finished! It was only meant to be a three-shot when I first came up with the idea half a year ago, but I'm glad my muse decided to let me write a nice wind-down that actually tied off those pesky loose ends I have a tendency to leave :P**

**As always, huge thanks and applause and huge bouquets of cyber flowers has to go to everyone who read/reviewed/favourited and/or alerted this fic – you have all been awesome and motivating and make writing so much more fun! THANK YOU!**

**My next project, as I said before, is the Identity sequel, but I've got loads of ideas for other stories that I really want to write. I am going to be putting up little synopsis's (is that a word?) on my profile page so if you're interested in one in particular, send me a PM and I'll make it a priority :D**

**Thanks again, and see you for the next story…**

**Manic **

**x**


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